Back to Benton (Sequel to The Last Time I Saw Sammy)
by RaisingAmara
Summary: Sam's going to be best man at Danny Ritter's wedding, but the trip back to Benton might not be the joyful reunion the boys foresee. When an over-zealous religious leader fixates on Dean, will Sam be able to get him out before the cult swallows him whole? And when the enigmatic leader ultimately demands a sacrifice, what or who will Dean offer up?
1. Chapter 1

Sam hadn't had a premonition in over a year, but the feeling that washed over him a split second before his phone lit up with an unrecognized number sent a shiver down his spine. Suddenly, he wanted to do anything except answer.

He let it ring three, four, five times before tossing Dean a haunted look and tapping the answer button.

"Hey, Uh … I'm looking for Sam Winchester?"

Sam was silent a moment, almost recognizing the voice.

"Who's calling?"

"Old friend. Name's Danny Ritter."

Sam's eyes widened and a grin spread across his face before he could help himself. He tossed a pen at Dean to get his attention and pointed to his phone.

"Danny? No way! What's it been, like six years?"

"Sammy, is that you?"

Dean smiled, sinking down onto the motel bed. "Put him on speaker."

"Yeah, it's me, man. Hey Danny, Dean's here. I'm putting you on speaker."

"Yeah? Hey Dean!"

"Hey yourself, Danny. How's Ron?"

"Dad's good. He said to tell you guys hello. I think he misses you camping out over his garage. He's back to being an island again."

Sam snorted, "We sort of miss that too. Sure beat these damp motel rooms."

"Well, you know, anytime you need a place to stay, the old room is still available. In fact, I'm sorta hoping you'll be needing it sooner than later."

Sam's forehead frowned, "Yeah? What's goin' on? You need help?" He could feel Dean's worry from across the room.

"No. No, nothing like that. It's just, well. I have some pretty big news, Sammy."

"Yeah?"

"Yep. I'm getting married, man."

"What!" Dean and Sam exclaimed simultaneously.

Danny chuckled, "Funny, that's was Dad's reaction too. What's so unbelievable about me finally tying the knot. I am 29, you know."

"What? No, nothing. Just kind of unexpected is all. Is it … what was her name, Janet?"

"Janet? Janet …" They could tell Danny was reaching. "Oh! Oh hell no!"

Sam laughed, and Dean snorted.

"No, uh … her name's Jaime, and you're going to love her. At least I hope."

"So when's the bachelor party, Danny?" Dean piped up, "cause we are so there."

Well, the wedding is in three weeks, so right around there, I guess. You're both invited, and sorry for the late notice, but Jaime and I just realized it ourselves a few days ago. Oh, and Sam?"

"Yeah, Man?"

"Uh, I could use a best man?"

And at those words, Sam's vision suddenly shifted. For an instant, he was in a darkly paneled room, with the overwhelming taste of fear in his mouth and the coppery smell of blood all around him. Then, like a wisp, it was gone, and Danny's voice was questioning him in concern. "Hey Sammy? You, uh, didn't pass out or anything?"

Sam tried to clear his head, though he could feel Dean's eyes on him in concern. "What? Oh, no. I mean, yes! Of course! Best man!"

"So you'll do it? Stand up for me, I mean? And maybe catch me when I faint?"

Sam chuckled. "Absolutely. I'll bring my catcher's mitt."

"Whew! That's a relief. I hated having to rely on Dad. He never could catch a baseball for shit."

Both boys laughed.

"Oh, and, uh, Dean?"

"Right here."

"Groomsman, man? Please?"

Dean blanched. "Uh … "

Sam piped up, "He said sure, Danny." And laughed as Dean chucked the pen back at him full speed.

"Thanks Guys! I sure appreciate it. So, great! Listen. Give me a call when you're on your way, and I'll break out the vacuum and the dust cloth for over the garage, okay?"

"Will do, Danny. Hey, we're sort of hell and gone from Illinois at the moment and tying up some loose ends, so it might be a week or two."

"No worries. That should still give me plenty of time to get you both to the rental shop."

Dean groaned.

Danny chuckled. "Poor Dean. I promise I'll make up for the formal attire with tons of beer."

"You had him at beer, Danny." Sam grinned, disconnecting the call.

And as he sat there, watching Dean mourn exaggeratedly over having to don a tux, the sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach refused to let up. He watched Dean move around the room with his usual easy grace, but suddenly, the picture shifted again, and he saw Dean moving as though in slow motion. His brother was jerky and off-kilter as though controlled by a marionette, and when he turned to speak to Sam, his eyes looked dead and empty.

"Sam?"

Sam flinched. He blinked. When he opened his eyes, Dean was back to normal, staring at him in concern. "Sam? You okay?"

Sam smiled nervously and tried to laugh it off, but frowned when he realized Dean was staring at his hands.

They were shaking. His hands were shaking, and his brother had dead eyes, and there was the pervading scent of blood surrounding him.

Sure, he was fine.


	2. What Happened to Jaime?

Danny was drunk.

And Danny drunk was something to see. As outgoing and gregarious as he was sober, the 29-year-old was worse drunk. He hugged Sam three times when the boys chugged up in the Impala a full two weeks later, and shook Dean's hand until the older Winchester was certain he'd sprained something.

After that, he'd led them precariously up the steps to the tidy apartment over the garage and unceremoniously proceeded to pass out on their couch. The two stood looking down at him in silence, wondering why their friend was three sheets to the wind and where the famous fiance was.

They didn't have long to wait for answers.

"She took up with a traveling preacher last weekend." Ron clued them in over his kitchen table once Dean worked up the courage to ask. "Damn near broke Danny's heart. Been a long time since he was this head-over-heels for someone." The man said softly, as he cut both boys slices of freshly baked blueberry pie.

Sam and Dean stared, mouths open. "She left him two weeks before their wedding?" Sam clarified, disbelief on his face.

Ron nodded, as he reached three cups down from the cupboard and filled them with fresh, steaming coffee. He handed Dean his cup black and nudged the sugar bowl toward Sam, frowning. "Darnedest thing I ever saw. Saddest too." He shook his head, staring into his cup, "You know how level-headed and together Danny always is, and now … he just isn't." He took a cautious sip. "I'm worried about him." His glance included both boys.

Dean sat back in his kitchen chair in disgust. "Well she must be a real class act." He noted, sarcastically. "How'd Danny get mixed up with someone like that?"

Ron was silent for a moment. Then he smiled and shook his head again. "That's the thing. I've known Jaime since she moved here three years ago, and you'd never meet a nicer girl. She's smart, sweet, polite, and she's crazy over Danny. You can tell. She's the vet over at the local animal hospital. Girl's had a ton of college. She's just … just … too smart to fall for somebody the likes of Guyver.

"Guyver? That the preacher?" Sam asked, dropping two teaspoons full of sugar into his mug under his brother's disgusted stare.

"Is his first name Mac?" Dean quipped, grinning mischievously.

Ron missed it. "No, Barney."

Sam shot his brother the death stare. "So, this Barney Guyver, you've met him?"

Ron wavered, "Umm, less met, more stalked." he grinned.

Dean's eyes widened, "Ron! I'm shocked."

Ron was chuckling now, "Don't be. That's why I wasn't here when you two arrived. I was checking out the revival meeting two days up the road. Man puts a lot of distance between towns if you know what I mean. He picked up two new "followers" there too. I talked to their families, and they were just as crushed as Danny."

"Crushed, as in 'two level-headed people suddenly shucking everything to follow some traveling preacher?'" Sam asked.

Ron nodded, 'Yep. Same exact thing. Picked himself up a tax accountant and a kindergarten teacher. Funny thing about that encampment too …" he said mysteriously.

Dean waited, "What?"

The older man frowned, "They have quite a bit of livestock - cows, a few horses. I even saw a pig and sheep and goats."

The boys exchanged looks, "What's so odd about livestock, again?"

Ron shrugged, "Maybe nothing, but large animal practice is Jaime's specialty - farm animals."

"You think he goes from town to town romancing people who can make his 'congregation' stronger? Make it all-inclusive?"

"That's exactly what I think. The two families that got left behind in Lincoln weren't taking it as well as Danny. The tax accountant was a father of five and the schoolteacher was single, but she'd just re-enrolled in college to get her Ph.D. - gave it all up to follow Guyver's traveling circus. Parents and brother were wrecked. The boy actually took a swing at the guy before several townspeople hustled him out. Guess he ain't got around to recruiting any muscle yet."

Dean snorted, "Next town."

"We should go." Sam said suddenly.

"Hunh?" Dean looked up from his pie.

"Us. We should go check it out. See if we can find out what's really going on with Jaime."

Ron smiled, "That's a nice offer, Sam, but I talked to Jaime just yesterday, and she's gone over this guy. It's like Danny never existed. I asked her what I should tell him, and she said, "Tell him I'm finally happy."

Dean inhaled sharply, "Ouch."

"Right." Ron frowned. "I believe that's one message I won't be delivering."

Sam sat silent, his thoughts piling up like Legos. "We should go, Dean. Take in a meeting. Talk to this guy. Tell him what we know, and see what he does. He could be a siren."

Dean shook his head. "No way, Sammy."

"What? Why not?"

"Cause no. That's why not."

"Dean …" Sam started.

"No Sam! No, and that's final. You know how you get."

"What!" The younger boy squeaked.

Dean just shook his head, as Sam looked to Ron for clarification, but the older man seemed as perplexed as Sam.

No, Dean. Tell me. How do I get?"

"Sam, just leave it."

"No. I wanna know what you meant by that. Come on, Dean. How do I get?"

"You get all new agey and shit. If there's anyone on this planet who's susceptible to someone like that, you wrote the book, okay? He'd have you burning incense and chanting in a heartbeat. Might even sacrifice a cow or something."

Sam stared, slack-jawed.

Dean shook his head. "You can stop acting all shocked. Speaking of sirens, you forget that little fiasco?"

Sam's mouth couldn't stretch any wider. "He got you too! In fact, he got you first, Dean! You tried to kill me with an ax!"

Dean shrugged. "Doesn't matter. Point is, you're freakin' drawn to monsters Sam - Madison?"

Sam suddenly looked ill, and Dean felt a niggle of guilt settle in.

"Or maybe they're just drawn to you. Either way, I'm not letting you fall under some monster's spell, Sammy. Not gonna happen. Not again. You're staying as far away from this Guyver guy as possible. He gets one little inkling of this … second sight shit you got going on and it's all over. Talk about a valuable addition to his congregation … He'd put you in a golden cage and throw away the key."

Sam just stared at his brother, stunned that he'd brought up Madison, stunned that Dean had so little faith in him, stunned that he'd mentioned his premonitions in front of Ron. He swallowed back any retort he might have had and threw Ron a sick look. He rose wordlessly from the table and stalked off toward the garage.

Dean sat finishing his pie and trying not to feel Ron's eyes on him. The older man was never one to judge or to interfere in the brother's arguments, but he had definite ideas about how people should treat Sam - the boy he thought of as another son.

And suddenly, Dean felt like the biggest douche in the world.


	3. The Tent Service

Sam settled himself in the uncomfortable metal chair and glanced around. The tent was quickly filling up with people of all ages, and he was chagrined to see that several families had brought their young children to this charlatan's show. Sam was convinced, just from listening to Ron's description, that they were dealing with something supernatural. He felt a little bad for sneaking away in the middle of the night, but he simply felt he owed it to Danny to see what he could do, and he knew he wouldn't be able to bear the look of betrayal on Dean's face when he finally realized that Sam had come here anyway.

The joke ended up being on Sam though, when halfway through the revival meeting he spied Dean standing off to the side, studying the audience row-by-row in a desperate attempt to locate him. Sam sighed and raised up out of his chair just enough for Dean to spot him, and he grimaced as the older boy openly scowled and strode over.

"Nice." was all Dean said as he folded himself into the empty chair beside his brother.

"Dean …" Sam began, feeling guilty and harassed at the same time.

"Shut it, Sam. You wanted to hear what this guy has to say, so let's hear it."

Sam pouted, "Fine."

Dean snorted. "Trade me seats."

"What?"

"You heard me. Trade me seats."

"Why?"

"Because I don't want you on the aisle."

"What! Why?"

"Just do it, Sam."

"No!"

"Sam, you trade me seats or so help me, I'll fall down on the floor right here and fake a damned heart attack."

Sam stared at his brother like he'd lost his last marble, but he got up and switched seats.

"Happy now, Dean? I'm not a freaking toddler, you know."

"Yeah you are, Sasquatch. Now shut up. I can't hear."

But Dean's caution was needless. They'd neared the end of the service, and the volume inside the tent was ramping up as family after family came forward to kneel at the makeshift altar and the singers grew louder and more fervent. Dean and Sam stayed planted in place as everyone around them rose and moved forward in a wave. Normally, it wouldn't have bothered them, but by the end, they were literally the only two people inside the tent still seated.

Sam watched as the preacher spotted their discomfort. He stepped down off his makeshift stage and made his way through the crowd. As he approached their row, he smiled directly at Sam, and Dean rose instantly to his feet, blocking his brother from the man's view.

"Something I can help you with?" Dean asked coldly, firmly planted in front of his brother.

But Guyver wasn't phased. He turned his attention to Dean and smiled disarmingly. "I see my sermon was lacking."

"Why do you say that?" Dean answered, his voice still flat and emotionless.

"You weren't moved like the others. I'll have to step up my game."

"Don't go to any extra work on our account." Dean answered. "We've seen it all already."

The preacher smiled. "I assure you, everything you see and hear here is genuine."

Dean stared silently.

"Perhaps your friend would like to come forward?" Guyver made a step to the right to see around Dean.

"He wouldn't." Dean replied, sidestepping in tandem with the man.

Guyver never lost his poise. "Well, I hope you'll attend our next service. It's at 7:00 this evening. Perhaps you'll find that one more … inspiring."

Dean didn't answer.

The preacher nodded and made his way on down the aisle to stand at the tent flap. He began shaking hands with everyone as they exited.

Dean turned determined eyes on Sam. "See!" He hissed. "Who does that?"

Sam rolled his eyes. "What?"

"That! Tell me that guy wasn't fixating on you."

"Dean, stop it. He was just talking to us."

"He was talking to me. He was trying to Vulcan mind meld with you."

Sam snorted. "Really, Dean? Really?"

"Yes, really! Let's get you outa here before he starts sending out tentacles or something."

Sam held his exasperation in as Dean led the way to a side flap that was well away from the man who stood at the back shaking hands. They exited the tent into the cool, midday breeze and Sam breathed a sigh of relief.

"I didn't realize how hot it was in there."

"All the better to brainwash you with, my dear." Dean snarked. "Look at those poor suckers. Like lambs to slaughter."

"Speaking of lambs." Sam nodded toward the livestock pen where an attractive young woman knelt in the mud, checking inside the ears of a really annoyed sheep. The animal complained loudly as the woman crooned gently, scraping at its ear.

Dean nodded appreciatively as the woman stood and turned, revealing a trim figure and a lovely face . "Go Danny." He muttered softly as the two strode forward.

"I don't think he liked that." Sam joked, leaning against the fence.

The young woman tossed back her head and laughed. She turned twinkling eyes to the brothers. "No, he didn't, did he? I'm sorry. Did Shawn here interrupt your service?"

Dean blinked, "Shawn the Sheep?"

She laughed again, a contagious sound that had both boys smiling. "Just my little joke. I have a four-year-old nephew back home in Benton. I'm Jaime, by the way. I'd shake your hands, but I'm pretty sure you don't want me to."

Sam and Dean stood quiet, too impressed to argue.

"So … did you enjoy the revival meeting?" She picked up a bucket and stepped up on the bottom slat of the wooden fence, tossing one leg gracefully over. Both boys rushed forward to help, Sam grabbing the bucket and Dean taking her hand to help her over.

She graced them both with another blazing smile. "Such gentlemen! Thanks."

Sam had to look away chuckling when Dean actually blushed.

"I'm Sam. The silent one is Dean." Sam offered.

Her eyes widened. "Not … Sam and Dean Winchester?"

"Uh," Dean started, confused.

"Oh my goodness! Danny told me everything about you both! I feel like I know you already!" Her smile this time was positively blinding. "You're just lucky I'm covered in yuck, or we would so have a big old group hug!" She looked around eagerly. "Is Danny with you?"

Sam felt a leap of something that felt like hope. "Do you want him to be?"

Her smile took on a haunted look as her voice fell a notch. "No, I guess it's better if he isn't actually."

The brothers exchanged looks. It was as though the sun had suddenly gone behind a cloud.

Jaime suddenly looked stricken. "Oh! Tell me you didn't come in just for the wedding?"

Sam nodded.

She looked like she was about to cry. "Oh, I'm so sorry! I thought Danny … well, I told my people and I just assumed he'd tell his. I'm so sorry!" She repeated, her eyes actually tearing up.

"No, hey, it's okay … " Sam started. But he was rudely interrupted by one of the men he'd seen earlier guarding the entrance to the tent.

"Jaime." The man said sharply, "Pigs need slopped."

Jaime looked surprised, "Oh, William. Uh, sure. I'll tend to them in just a minute. Catching up with some old friends over here." Her smile returned as she looked from Sam to Dean. In the next instant it vanished, however, as William grabbed her wrist and jerked her toward him abruptly, wrenching a surprised cry from her lips.

"You'll tend to them now!"

Dean was instantly in action. He stepped forward, placing himself between Jaime and the rude stranger. "I'd let her go right now, if I were you."

The man looked him up and down, snarling. "Yeah? Well nobody here cares what you'd do, asshole."

"Pretty talk. Your preacher teach you that?"

The man sneered again, "Get out of my way." He threatened. "She's got work to do. You're distracting her."

Jaime spoke up then. "I don't know who you think you are, William, but you're certainly not the boss of me. I'd suggest you let go of my wrist right now, or I'll take you down myself, and you know I can do it."

Dean smiled at the man. "You heard her, Billy Boy. Don't make her go all crazy on your ass."

"It's William."

"I don't give a shit."

The man released her, and she instantly backed away toward Sam who moved forward and placed a protective arm across her shoulders.

Dean just stood smirking as the man moved away, blustering.

"Hey, you okay?" Sam turned to Jaime, concerned. "Let me see." He took her wrist gently in his hands and examined it. He swore, "The bastard marked you up."

Dean looked over at the ugly bruise blossoming on her wrist and grimaced. "That son of a …" He started after the man.

But Jaime stopped him. "No, Dean. Don't. It's fine, really. It's nothing worse than I get wrestling around with the animals all day." She smiled, then blushed as she realized how it sounded. "Uh, I mean … you know … the REAL animals, which reminds me … work awaits!" She moved off toward another animal enclosure that was visible on the other end of the lot. "Hey, will you stick around for the 7 pm service? We could get together and have a bite to eat after. I'd … uh … I'd like to hear how Danny is doing?" She smiled again, but this time it held hint of sadness.

Sam felt that same hope blossom in his chest again, "Yeah, sure. We'll hang around."

She grinned then, and both boys went temporarily blind. "Great! See you after the service!"

They turned then, and Sam suddenly noticed the preacher standing quietly just inside the opening to the tent. He stared thoughtfully at Dean, and Sam shuddered as he realized the man must have witnessed the whole interaction.


	4. Premonition

Sam never felt the premonition coming. Suddenly it felt like a volcano had erupted inside his skull, and he doubled over with pain so deep it felt primal. His hand found Dean's shoulder and closed in an iron grip.

Dean's attention was diverted from the sermon as he glanced over at his brother. "What?"

"Head hurts … Dean … get me out of here."

The older boy knew instantly what was happening. "Shit, Sam!" Dean swore, standing instantly and interrupting the service by pulling his brother's arm over a shoulder. He half-dragged, half-carried Sam out of the tent and sat him down in the shade. He knelt in front of the younger man and cradled his face in both palms. "Sammy, look at me. Tell me what's happening."

But Sam could only push desperate hands to both temples and try not to scream from the pain that ricocheted around the inside of his head like rifle shots.

"Dean!"

"I'm here, Sammy. I got you."

But Sam wasn't speaking to the man who knelt next to him on the parched ground. Instead he questioned the brother of his premonition - the one who approached him with angry eyes and strong hands that forced him to his knees in front of a crudely fashioned altar. Dream Dean clamped two strong hands down on Sam's shoulders, holding him in place as Guyver stared down at him condescendingly.

"Dean! Don't! Please!"

Dean searched Sam's eyes, realizing he was lost inside whatever movie was playing out inside his own mind. "It's okay, Sam. I'm here." He crooned comfortingly, never taking his hands from his brother's face.

But the preacher in Sam's vision suddenly nodded knowingly, and Sam watched helplessly as Dream Dean produced a blade and held it to Sam's throat.

Sam scuttled backward in terror, his feet kicking up dusty spirals in the dry dirt. He shook his head repeatedly, eyes tightly closed. "Dean! Stop! Don't!"

Dean moved forward with his brother, reached his leg, rested a comforting hand on his ankle.

But Sam kicked him away in terror. "Please!" And inside his mind, the Dean in Sam's vision moved the blade swiftly from left to right across Sam's throat, and all Sam could feel was the sharp spike of pain that skewered him, and suddenly his vision turned red. He screamed and collapsed onto his back on the ground, both hands holding his throat, moaning softly.

"Sammy! Come on! Snap out of it!" Dean plunged forward and pulled Sam's torso into his lap. He wrapped strong arms around the younger man and rocked him gently. "Come on, Sam. Come back to me now."

Sam flailed helplessly in the dust, feet pedaling at nothing. "Dean. Why? Don't … please. Dean."

"Shh. Sammy. I got you. You're okay now. It's okay."

Slowly, Sam came back into himself. His feet and arms stopped flailing, and his breathing calmed. He could feel someone holding him and rocking him gently. He opened his eyes.

There was a crowd of people gathered around him, staring down at him in concern. Suddenly, Sam couldn't get away fast enough. He threw off the strong arms that held him in place and half-crawled, half-stumbled to the parking lot, dropping to his knees once to vomit.

"Sammy." Dean was beside him in an instant. "Come on, man. You're scaring the crap out of me."

But all Sam could do was kneel on his hands and knees in the grass and heave. When he was done, to his ultimate shame, the heaving turned to soft sobs that he couldn't control.

Dean's hand rubbed comforting circles on his back. "It's okay, Sammy. Get it all out. It's okay."

"Dean?"

"I'm here, dude. I'm right here. You okay?"

Sam shook his head, a final sob bursting forth.

"Dammit, Sammy. What the hell did you see?"

But Sam couldn't bear to revisit the worst vision he'd ever had. He'd seen many people die in his premonitions and all but one had paralleled real life. The only one he'd ever managed to thwart was the vision where Dean died by his own gun at the hands of the psychic boy. Sam had overcome his fear and his helplessness that time to save his brother, but he'd never witnessed himself die before.

He'd never seen himself die by his brother's hand. And as he knelt there in the hot, foul grass on a sweltering summer night in July, he knew it was a harbinger of things to come. He wondered when and how it would happen and whether he had any chance of stopping it in time.


	5. Running Scared

"Sam, tell me, please." Dean pleaded.

Sam sat on the edge of the bed in the motel room just outside of town, head in his hands, still trying to catch his breath from the force of his latest vision. They were always so clear, so finely tuned, that afterward he felt like he'd just lived through whatever his mind had seen fit to show him.

And it only made this particular vision that much worse.

"I … I don't know if I can."

Dean sat down on the edge of the other bed, facing his brother. "You can. Come on. Spit it out. I know it was about me."

Sam looked up, startled, questions in his eyes.

"You kept begging me to stop whatever I was doing. What was I doing, Sam?"

Sam sighed and took a steadying breath. "You … uh … you made me kneel at the altar. Guyver was there."

Dean's forehead frowned, but he stayed silent, trying to make it easier for Sam to finish.

"And then he … uh ... he gave you a signal and …"

Dean waited, "And?"

Silence.

"Come on, Sam. And what? What I'd do?"

Sam turned haunted eyes on his brother. "You … uh … you slit my throat." He looked away.

Dean paled visibly. The older boy shot to his feet. "Not gonna happen, Sam." He strode purposefully to the window and stood staring out.

"These visions, Dean, they've … uh … only been wrong once. One time out of hundreds."

"Yeah, well the odds just went up, Sammy. No way that's ever gonna happen."

"What if it does?"

Dean turned to face his brother and saw the terrified look in his eyes. "You really believe that? You really think I'd hurt you … I'd kill you … for that bastard?"

"Why not? We almost killed each other the last time we ran up against a siren, if that's what he is. You remember how that felt, Dean. I remember it. It's like we had no options. We had to do what he told us."

Dean stared, then turned away. "We should get the hell out of here. I told you this was a bad idea."

"What about Jaime?"

"What about her? We send Danny up here. If he can't talk her loose, nothing we can say will do it."

"If she's under his spell, the only way to free her, to free everyone he's captured, is to kill him." Sam sat contemplating. "I owe Danny so much, Dean. You do too."

"Yeah, well you don't owe him your life. I don't owe him my … my sanity."

"What?"

"You really I'd survive that? If I killed you like that? Especially like that?"

Understanding dawned. Sam shook his head. "No."

"Then you get it - why we gotta go."

Dean made a decision. "So we get cleaned up. Grab something to eat and then sleep. Tomorrow, we'll head back out there, find Jaime, and tell her what's going on. If we can't convince her to come with us, then we call Bobby and he sends Garth or someone. Agreed?"

Sam nodded reluctantly. "Agreed."

"Now come on, you walking carnival act, let's go find some beer." Dean grabbed his wallet and headed for the door.

Sam shook his head and smiled. A beer was just what he needed.


	6. Worsening

Sam's dreams that night were filled with visions of the shifty preacher. Sam watched from a metal chair as Guyver commanded his flock to come forward, and before he could do anything to stop it, Dean was swept up in the flow of people pushing toward the altar. He reached for his brother, but Dean was moving too quickly, being pushed too forcefully to the front. Sam tried to get his attention, but the older boy didn't seem to realize anything was wrong. Sam waited to step out into the aisle to join his brother, but suddenly the way was blocked by William. He held a limp Jaime in his arms, blood dripping from her head, and when Sam reached for her, William's mouth opened and Dean's voice issued forth telling Sam to suck it up - that Danny would find another fiance in time - one who was more loyal and less of a pain in the ass. When Sam opened his mouth to disagree, William pulled out a knife and shoved it wordlessly down Sam's throat. Sam tried to scream, but all that came out was a wordless gurgle as Dean's trademark laugh poured forth from William's mouth.

"Sam!"

Sam shot straight up in bed, panting.

"You okay?"

Sam stared at his brother, wordlessly, the horror still lingering. "You laughed." He accused, still half-asleep.

"What?"

"You. You laughed."

"Did I tell a joke?" Dean tried to lighten the moment.

Sam shook his head, "No, uh, no. Just forget it. It was just a dumb dream." Sam stood and padded shakily to the bathroom for a glass of water, Dean staring worriedly after him.

"Dream or another vision?"

"Just a dream."

"Why was I laughing?"

Sam spoke before he could help himself, "Because I was dying, I think."

Dean stared, "Sammy ..."

"Forget it, Dean. I shouldn't have said that. I'm sorry. I'm just … I'm still half asleep."

"Maybe we should just go. Now. Tonight. I have a bad feeling about all this." Dean answered, lowering himself to the edge of the bed.

"No, it's okay. Tomorrow is soon enough. We can't leave without warning Jaime."

"Sam …"

But Sam smiled, placing a comforting hand on his brother's shoulder, "It's okay, Dean. Really. It was just a dumb dream. Not like we don't have our share of those, right?"

But just six hours later, Sam regretted his decision as the vision descended on him again. This time it blossomed in the passenger seat of the Impala as it rocketed toward the encampment. Sam whined, his hands going to his temples, knees drawing up in a sad imitation of a fetal position.

Dean glanced over at the sound, "Sam? Sammy?"

"Dean … hurts!"

"Shit!" Dean pulled the car over onto an old, dirt side road and slid across the seat. He pulled Sam's trembling hands from his temples and replaced them with his own. He rubbed them in a circular motion. "Just breathe, Sam. Breathe through it, okay? I got you."

"Dean." It was more of a whimper this time, and the older boy's heart twisted.

Inside Sam's mind, the story played out again but in more detail. This time, Sam could see that they were in a room instead of a tent. The paneling was all dark wood, and there were photographs of children on the walls. Dean forced Sam to his knees in front of the same worn podium the preacher used in his tent sermons, but Guyver was dressed in street clothes instead of his usual white frock. This time, Sam could feel Dean's hand tangled painfully in his long hair, forcing him to remain still as the older boy whispered regretfully in his ear.

"I'm sorry, Sammy. I'll try to make it quick, okay?"

Then Sam looked up to catch the preacher's nearly imperceptible nod as Dean's hand wielding the knife appeared in front of him.

"Dean! No! Don't!" But Dean's hand was swift and steady as he moved the blade effortlessly from left to right across his brother's throat. Sam felt searing pain as the delicate skin on his neck parted, and when his hands went there, they felt the horrifying separation. The terror was real as Dream Sam fell lifelessly onto ugly gold carpet, and the last thing he saw was his brother staring down at him sadly and the preacher looking approvingly on, his hand firmly on the older boy's shoulder.

Sam struggled to breathe, his face turning blue, and Dean shook him forcefully. "Dammit, Sam! Breathe! Breathe, Damn you!" He forced Sam's hands away from his neck and pushed the boy's body backward so he lay prone on the front seat.

Sam's eyes were wide open in horror as he was finally able to focus them on his brother. He buried frantic fists in Dean's shirt, sucked in a single pained breath and began seizing helplessly.

"Saaaam!" Dean swore, as he tugged the younger boy to the ground. He stretched him carefully out and stayed with him through the seizure. When it was over, Sam lay lifeless - his breathing shallow, eyes at half-mast.

And Dean thought it had been a long time since he'd felt so helpless.


	7. Back to the Encampment

"You … agh … Dean. It's getting … getting worse." Sam mumbled from the ground where the vision had dropped him.

"Thank God!" Dean exhaled forcefully. "I was twenty seconds from calling 911, Sam. What the hell?"

Sam struggled to sit up. "Don't know. It's … never been this bad before. Dean, it was so real. You were so … real."

"Was I … you know?"

"Yeah. Only there were more details this time."

Dean's eyes narrowed. "Tell me." He wanted as many details as possible so he could see the shit before it even thought of hitting the fan.

Sam cradled his aching head in his hands, "Uh … wasn't outside. We were in a room - a basement or something. Dark paneling. Same podium. You had me by my … my hair .. twisting it. And you didn't wanna do it. You whispered to me. You said something like you were sorry, that you'd try to be quick about it. But then he gave you the signal again, and you didn't even hesitate. Dean, I … I felt my throat. Felt it … separate. It was awful. I just … I fell onto this ugly yellow carpet and saw you looking down at me. You looked sad." He gagged, " I think I'm gonna throw up."

Dean rubbed gentle circles on the younger man's back. "It's okay. Better out than in. Let 'er fly, Sam."

"I know which knife it was." Sam looked up in sorrow, knowing what Dean would do with the information.

"Hunh? You recognized it?"

Sam swallowed hard, hating what he was about to say. "The knife Dad gave you for Christmas the year you were 16. The knife you love. Dean. I'm sorry."

Dean stared at his brother. That knife was the only thing he had left of Dad's - the only thing the man had ever really given him, but he'd be damned if he'd ever look at it the same way now. Dean nodded. "It's fine, Sam. I'll ditch it as soon as we get back to Benton. It's back at the room over the garage."

"You know you don't have to."

"Yeah, I do, Sam. What? You think I'm gonna hold on to it and take that chance?" He stood and reached down for his brother, pulling him to his feet. "You gonna be okay? You wanna go back to the motel?"

Sam shook his head, wincing. "No. Let's just do this and get out of here. Let Bobby handle it."

Dean nodded, climbing back inside. He sat silent for a moment, watching Sam situate himself in the passenger seat. "There's some aspirin in the glove box."

Sam nodded, "Yeah, thanks." He flipped the door open and dug the bottle out, dry swallowing two of the chalky pills. He looked over to where Dean sat, keys still in his hand. "So, uh, we doing this or what?"

Dean nodded reluctantly, "Against my better judgment."

Sam snorted, "You don't have better judgment, Dean."

"Shut it, Sam, okay? This ain't funny."

And Dean was still of the same opinion when the Impala pulled off onto the old dirt road that led back to the encampment. It had rained since the day before, and waterlogged potholes lurked in the mud, reaching up as though to snag and disable the tires. It might have been just his imagination, but Dean swore the day turned grayer and more gloomy as they drew nearer to the imposing tent. He glanced up at the sky. "Did it suddenly get darker out? Or is it just me?"

Sam shook his head, "It's not you. This place gets creepier by the minute. Let's find Jaime and go."

"Sounds good to me." Dean dropped his keys into his pocket and pulled himself from the car. He scanned the grounds, taking in the activity near the tent. It appeared to be a healing ceremony of some sort - Guyver poised frozen over a figure who was kneeling in the dirt, one hand on the younger man's forehead. With his other hand, he shook a fist toward the sky.

"I command thee! Turn this child loose and let him see again!"

There was a loud groan from the kneeling man, and then he suddenly stood and affected a shocked posture. "I … I can … I can SEE!" He crowed, joyously, as the small crowd of onlookers gasped in unison.

Guyver smiled then, knowingly, like he'd just risen Lazarus from the dead. He took a step back and allowed his mark to indulge.

And indulge the man did. He keened and wailed and moaned and fell to his knees in front of the preacher in supplication.

Dean and Sam exchanged glances over the top of the car, and Dean snorted loudly, "It's a miracle!" He mimicked, bolder than he intended. And Sam saw the preacher suddenly turn and nail them both with a dark look.

"Dean." Sam cautioned, nodding.

Dean looked and shrugged. "He's knows he's a fake. We know he's a fake. And he knows we know he's a fake." He said, not trying to be quiet. "Let him stare. Might do him some good."

Dean turned and strode purposefully toward the animal pens, but Sam was caught pinned by the preacher's glare. He swallowed hard, watching the man's evil eyes track his brother as the older boy moved away. And when he was finally able to break eye contact, Sam realized he was shivering. He hurried to catch up.

Dean glanced over, "You cold?"

"What? No. No, I'm fine." Sam shoved both hands in his pockets and willed his body to stop shuddering. The man's stare had been as cold as any demon's, and Sam wondered, if he'd stepped in close enough to really see, if it wouldn't have been flat, black eyes staring back at him.

"Over there," Dean pointed, breaking into Sam's dark thoughts. The younger boy glanced over to where Dean's finger pointed and made out the slight figure dressed in a bright yellow slicker and grey boots. Then she turned, saw them both, and smiled, and it was as if the sun had suddenly burst forth.

"There you are!" She strode over to them, baby piglet in hand, and stood grinning. "I wondered what happened to you last night. Everything okay?"

Dean frowned. He reached out a hand and tipped her chin toward the light. "What the hell happened to you?" He demanded, realizing that what he'd thought at first was a shadow, was in fact, quite a shiner.

Her grin faltered, "Oh, oh, it's nothing. Uh, one of the horses was acting up. He got a little frisky. You know. Nothing I couldn't handle."

The boys stared, silent and disbelieving.

"Jaime," Sam started, "If somebody's hurting you …"

"What? No! Of course not!" She exclaimed, smiling again. "It's nothing like that, really. I was just tired and I wasn't paying attention, and Lucy called me on it. That's all. I swear!" She held up three fingers in the sign of the girl scout law.

Sam felt a reluctant smile creep in, but Dean wasn't having it.

"Bullshit." He said bluntly. "He hit you, didn't he?"

Jaime stared at him for a moment before regaining her composure. "You're sweet to worry. Danny said you both had hearts of gold, but I really am fine, Dean. I promise. Now why didn't you stay for the service last night?" She asked, effectively changing the subject.

"Oh, I … uh … I got sick." Sam admitted. Dean helped me to the car, and I just couldn't come back. I'm sorry we bailed on you like that."

A crease formed between her eyes. "Are you okay, Sam? Feeling better?"

He smiled, "I00 percent."

"Good!" She grinned gleefully, "Because I haven't had lunch yet, and I'm starving!"

Dean looked skeptical. "Is the pig coming too?"

Jaime laughed throatily, looking down at the restless piglet still in her arms. "You'd like that, wouldn't you, Wilbur? You'd like to go to lunch with two handsome guys, but guess what? I get them all to myself, and in you go!" She placed the baby carefully back inside the pen and straightened up. "I have to go hose myself down, first. Can I meet you back at the concession? There's a picnic table out front. Give me 15 minutes?"

The boys nodded as she walked briskly away, and Dean turned to his brother, "If they have pulled pork, I'm gonna feel like a cannibal now."


	8. Fear

Sam turned and headed for the concession. "You coming?"

Dean stood studying the area. "Where do you take a leak around here?"

Sam nodded behind them, "Porta-Potty Row back there by the parking lot, I think."

Dean grimaced. "You comin' with?"

Sam stepped back, "Uh, No!"

"Come on. I ain't leaving you here all alone."

"Dean …" Sam started, exasperated.

But Dean didn't have the energy to bicker. "Come on, Sammy. Settle this like men. Rock, paper, scissors."

"Really, Dean?" Sam rolled his eyes.

"Really. Come on." Dean took his stance.

Sam sighed and positioned himself accordingly as Dean counted off.

"One, two, three!" Predictably, Sam won.

Dean looked disappointed, but accepted the defeat gracefully. He strode away, calling back once. "Save me a seat!"

Sam shook his head, smiling. "Oh, Dean." He chuckled. "Always with the scissors."

Later, as Sam sat thinking back to that last moment when everything had been normal between his brother and himself, he'd regret letting Dean walk off alone like that. But by then, of course, it was way too late.

###

Sam wandered the grounds of the encampment as darkness settled itself heavily over the tents. Dean had never returned from his trip to the parking lot. Jaime had never shown either. And as he moved aimlessly from one area to another, his eyes sharp for his brother's familiar silhouette, he found himself caught up in the stream of people heading for the 10 pm tent service.

Sam let himself be carried along, thinking it was the best chance he probably had of reconnecting with his brother since the older boy wasn't answering his phone. If Dean was able, he'd search for Sam here first. And if he wasn't … well, Sam wasn't prepared to face that eventuality. He couldn't stop kicking himself for not sticking by his brother's side when he'd had the chance, and he guessed maybe this was the price he paid for his selfishness.

Or maybe it was the price Dean paid.

Sam shuddered.

He stepped inside the tent and settled himself into one of the uncomfortable metal chairs. The crowd at night was much more sparse, and empty seats abounded. Sam took time to study the crowd, looking for familiar green eyes and a cocky stance.

He was lost in his study of the audience when he heard Guyver begin to speak. Sam glanced forward and froze.

At Guyver's left hand stood William. At his right stood Dean. Both affected the at-ease position of military men, with feet apart and hands clasped behind them. Both stared straight ahead, eyes scanning the crowd for potential threats.

Sam stood up, drawing the attention of all three of the men who stood at the podium. He watched Guyver pause, then turn to Dean, who leaned in for a whispered conference. Both sets of eyes fell on him then, and Sam saw Dean nod almost imperceptibly. Then his brother stepped down off the makeshift stage and began walking toward him.

Sam searched his brother's familiar eyes that were always so full of warmth when they were trained on him. But tonight, he barely saw recognition. Dean's expression was blank - cold even - and his eyes lifeless. The younger boy felt a shiver run down his spine as he recognized the face from his premonitions.

Sam ran.


	9. Escaping Dean

Sam huddled in the darkness, listening. He was attuned to the sound of his brother's footsteps, but wondered if he'd even hear them over the pounding of his own heart.

If anyone anywhere had ever told him he'd be running, terrified, from the brother who'd raised him - the man who'd sacrificed everything for him over and over again - Sam would have howled in their face.

Yet here he was, cowering behind putrid garbage cans like an actor in the badly-written script of a B movie.

He stilled.

"Sammy?"

The voice was so familiar, that, for a moment, Sam almost sighed in relief. But then he realized something was missing from the softly uttered request.

Warmth.

Sam held his breath and willed his brother not to hear the loud staccato of his heart as it beat his rib cage near to death.

"Sammy? You here?"

Sam heard Dean pause. Could almost see him standing in place, turning this way and that, trying to spot his brother's tall shadow. But it was nearly pitch black here in this alley between the tents. The lights of the encampment didn't reach this far, and Sam was fairly certain that the only way Dean would ever find him here was if he literally stumbled over the younger boy.

"Sam, it's okay. You can trust me."

Right. Sam thought. I can trust you. Not.

"Sam, I promise I'm not gonna hurt you. I just want to talk. Can we just talk?"

Sorry big brother. Sam tossed at him mentally. You're not exactly yourself right now.

"Please, Sammy?"

Sam closed his eyes, unused to making his brother beg. His heart broke at the pleading tone in Dean's voice. He wondered for a moment if he was wrong about this whole thing.

But then Sam heard another set of footsteps approach. He heard William's voice. "Lose him?"

Dean was silent. Sam guessed he must have nodded.

"Your kid brother, right?"

"Right."

"So … you gonna be able to … you know … handle him?"

Sam's eyes widened.

"Don't worry about it."

But William pressed, "Cause if you can't … I'll do it. Be a favor to you. I had to … take care of my own brother … about a year back."

"Sam's my responsibility. Nobody handles him but me."

William was silent. Sam heard him walk away, back the way he'd come.

Dean took a step closer, and Sam suddenly knew he was screwed. He looked up, heart dropping to his feet.

Dean stood looking right at him from mere feet away. Sam swallowed hard and stayed cowering in the darkness, not certain that his brother could actually see him.

"Sammy." Dean said, hesitating. "You need to go. Now. Tonight. Go and don't come back."

Sam remained silent.

"Please, Sammy. Just go." Dean pinned him with a sad stare, then he turned and walked away, back toward the tent service.

Sam listened to his familiar footsteps until they were swallowed up by the sound of katydids. Then he rose and made his way cautiously back to the Impala. He retrieved the extra key from the wheel well and backed carefully out of the muddy lot. He glanced back once in the rear-view mirror and caught his breath at the sight of his brother standing alone in the middle of the road, hands in his pockets, watching as Sam drove away.


	10. Drugged

"Ritter's."

"Hey, Ron. It's Sam."

"Well, it's about time we hear something back from you two. Danny and I were just debating driving up there."

Sam smiled, but he didn't have the heart to laugh. "It's funny you should say that, actually."

Ron paused, "Trouble?"

"Yeah."

"What kind?"

"Big. I … uh … I hate to ask, Ron. But I need help."

"Say no more, Sammy. You need more than just me and Danny? Cause I can round up some friends."

His old friend's generosity never failed to amaze him, "No, just you two if you can spare a few days?"

"We can always clear the schedule for you and Dean, Sam. You should know that by now."

"I guess I do. I still feel bad asking. I know Danny would probably rather be anywhere else but up here."

"So, you've seen Jaime?"

"Yeah. Sweet girl, but … uh … she's in trouble, Ron."

Sam could feel Ron frowning through the line. "What kind of trouble? Jaime's okay, isn't she?"

At that question, Sam heard a muffled exclamation. Suddenly, Danny was on the line.

"Sam? What happened to Jaime?"

Sam cleared his throat, not wanting to scare his old friend, and not wanting to give him false hope either. "She, uh, she had a hell of a shiner last time I saw her, Danny. Said a horse gave her trouble, but judging by some of the stuff we've seen here, I'm pretty sure someone hit her."

Sam heard a sharp intake of breath on the other end. "I'll kill the bastard."

"Dean already offered, but, you know, she's … uh … covering for someone."

"Put Dean on the phone, Sam, please?" Sam could tell Danny was holding on by a single nerve.

Sam hesitated.

"Sammy?"

He cleared his throat, trying to find his voice.

"Sammy? Dean's okay, isn't he?"

"I …" Sam suddenly couldn't speak for the lump in his throat, and he heard Danny gasp again.

"Dad! Get on the extension. Something's really wrong."

Ron picked up, "Sam? What's going on?"

"Something happened to Dean, didn't it?" Danny guessed.

"They … uh … they got him."

"What!" Ron and Danny exclaimed as one.

"Got him how, son?"

"He's, uh, he's Guyver's new bodyguard, I think. Stands beside him on stage, looking lethal."

"You talk to him?"

"No, I … uh … I didn't get the … the chance. Just … he told me to leave and not come back."

Silence.

"Dean said that?" Danny asked disbelievingly, "To you?"

"Yeah. Jaime …" Sam's voice hitched.

"What about Jaime?"

"She was supposed to meet us for lunch, yesterday. She never showed. I never saw her after. Dean and Jaime, they disappeared at the same time."

Once he realized both boys were having trouble speaking, Ron took charge of the conversation. "Where are you, Sam?" He asked kindly.

"Uh, I'm at a motel outside of town - the Knightsbridge. Room 8."

"Okay, Danny and I will be on the road in two hours. Just stay put, okay?"

"Yeah, hey, uh … thanks, guys."

"Anytime, Sam. Now watch your back, okay? And wait for us before you go trying to get Dean back."

But Sam hung up before he had to honor Ron's request, knowing he was going back out there in an hour. In fact, he'd be at every tent service the asshole held until he had his brother back.

###

Sam walked into the tent, making no attempt to hide his appearance. The service was already in session, but Dean was nowhere to be seen. Sam stood in the back, not caring who saw him. He stood there for a good ten minutes, arms crossed, looking stony, until Guyver's eyes landed on him by accident. He saw the preacher falter and quickly recover. The man leaned over to William, who still stood on his left, and whispered instructions. Without looking at Sam, William nodded and stepped down off the stage.

Sam braced himself for a confrontation, but instead of coming toward him, William slipped out a side entrance and was gone.

The rest of the service went by without incident, and when the congregation moved forward at the end, Sam let himself be pulled along. He maneuvered himself next to Guyver and grabbed the man by the arm.

"Where's my brother?" He asked softly, giving the man a chance to cooperate.

But Guyver simply smiled, "Your brother has elected to join us in our mission, Sam. You should be very proud of him. He's been a wonderful asset to the movement.

Sam snarled. "That's not what I asked you. Where is he?"

But when the preacher's attention was suddenly drawn over Sam's left shoulder, a chill ran through the younger Winchester. He tried to spin around, but he felt the needle jab in his thigh a moment too late.

Sam turned to see William glaring down at him as the world turned dim. He heard the preacher's explanation.

"Step back, everyone, please. We have a sick man, here. Give him some room to breathe please. Guyver leaned over him in concern. "Son? Are you alright?"


	11. Stupor

Sam awoke to a warm hand on his forehead.

"Sammy. Wake up for me."

Sam groaned and shifted. He tried to open his eyes, but they felt weighted down. Someone was stroking his cheek gently, but the motion just caused the mountainous pain in his head to erupt. He whimpered.

The hand went away and was replaced by an angry voice. "What'd you give him?"

"Just a quick-acting sedative. Mild. He was about to make a scene." - a voice Sam couldn't place.

"I said he's my responsibility. Why's he bleeding?"

"Hit the concrete on the way down. He'll be fine. Might have a headache for a day or two." Sam thought the person chuckled.

Silence descended.

"Okay. Okay. I'm sorry. Just following orders."

Sounds of a scuffle across the room. Sam couldn't make out his brother's words, but he could tell Dean was angry. He shifted to get better leverage so he could raise himself up off the bed and go help the older boy, but the movement caused everything loose inside his head to shift, and he realized he was going to puke. When it came, Sam was flat on his back, choking.

Instantly, gentle hands were on him, turning him on his side, fingers scooping the foulness from his mouth.

"Easy Sammy. I got you."

Sam groaned again and wondered why his eyes didn't work. His voice didn't work. He couldn't see or speak. He felt underwater, like he was slowly drowning.

It was terrifying. His hands clutched at Dean, only to fall away limply when his fingers wouldn't cooperate.

"You gave him something more than mild." Dean's voice, accusing.

The other person sighed. "I told you. Just following orders. He'll be fine or he won't. What do you care? You're going to have to get rid of him eventually anyway. It's better this way, maybe."

Sam panicked when he heard that. He whimpered again and tried to raise boneless arms to slap helplessly at Dean.

"Shhh. Sam, you're safe. It's me. I'm not gonna let anything happen. Try to relax, okay?"

To the other person in the room, Dean said, "Get out. I catch you near him again, you'll answer to me."

Silence. Then feet scuffling.

"Guyer's not gonna be happy about this. You were supposed to handle this." Sam heard a door open and close.

Quiet descended again, and Sam was unsure whether his brother was still in the room. He tried to call out.

"Duhhhhhhh."

The edge of Sam's bed dipped down, and a warm, wet cloth touched his face, stroking the area beneath his nose gently.

"I'm right here, Sammy. Just gonna get you cleaned up a bit, okay? You took a nasty fall. Had a nose bleed."

Dean worked in silence for a bit, and Sam relaxed beneath his comforting touch. No matter what happened between them, Sam knew he would forever take comfort from his big brother's touch.

"You shouldn't have come back here, Sam. It's not safe for you. I thought you heard me the other night when I told you to go. Always so damned stubborn."

"Wass gunna do to me?" Sam slurred, concerned.

Dean chuckled, "Nothing. Gonna lecture you cause I'm the big brother. You need to get your ass back to Benton."

"Duuunnn." Sam's was growing more confused by the moment.

"I'm here, Sammy. What is it?"

"Cut my throa …t?"

Dean's hands froze.

"No, Sammy. I … I didn't cut you. Nobody is cutting you. You're safe. You can relax. They drugged you. That's why you feel like this. It will wear off soon. I'm sorry. I didn't know til after."

Sam tried to digest this new information.

"Anyway," Dean continued. "Your premonition can't come true without the knife, right? And the knife ain't here. Even if it was, you'd still be safe, kid."

Sam felt better, hearing that. Maybe Dean was back to his old self. It sure sounded like it. He tried so hard to open his eyes to see his brother's expression, but it was like they weren't even attached to his body, and he wondered briefly if it was possible to be paralyzed from the eyes down.

He was so tired. He felt so horrible.

He drifted.


	12. Spellbound

When Sam awoke a second time, it was to muffled words from the next room.

"... anywhere til he's awake, and I know he's okay."

"Maybe you ... have thought of that before ... dosed him ... shit."

"Do the service without me."

"... not leaving him."

" I don't … rat's ass … hear me? … not … my brother."

Sam groaned. "Dean?" His mouth felt like the layer of dust that had gathered atop the layer of dust.

"Can't make it any plainer. I don't care what he does. I'm needed here."

Sam tried again, louder. "Dean!"

Sam heard a the sound of a landline phone crashing onto its cradle.

"Yeah, Sam. I'm here."

Sam opened his eyes, painfully, wincing from the bright, overhead light.

"What happened? Why do I feel like I … like I just ...?"

But Dean's words were terse. "You need to get the hell out of here, Sam. Do you understand?"

Sam shrunk back a little from his brother's cold words.

"Why? What's going on?"

"I can't babysit you every minute. That's what going on. I have work to do here."

But Sam's head was beginning to clear, and he remembered why they both were here.

"What … what kind of work?"

"My mission, Sam. And you're getting in the way of it."

Sam opened his eyes wide and stared intently at his brother. "That was the plan, Dean."

Dean froze. "What? Why?"

"Listen to yourself. When have you ever had a mission? You're under the siren's spell."

But Dean wasn't hearing it. He grasped Sam by two fists in the front of his shirt and pulled him up and off the cot.

"You good to drive?"

Sam shook his head. "I'm not leaving here without you."

"Oh yes. You are." Dean informed him.

Sam pulled himself free, stumbling backward. He went down on the concrete floor, hard.

"Dammit, Sam!" Dean sighed, staring down at him. "Get your Sasquatch ass up, and get out."

Sam stared up at his brother's face that was twisted into an annoyed grimace, and tried to get his ducks in a row. He still felt disoriented and groggy from whatever they'd given him, not to mention his head hurt like a son of a bitch. But the worst by far was seeing Dean's face glaring down at him with cold eyes like he wanted to strangle him.

"Dean, wait …" Sam flinched as the older boy reached down and grasped him roughly by the arm.

"Done waiting, Sam. I told you to go. You didn't listen. There's nothing else I can do for you." He pulled the younger boy to his feet once again and propelled him roughly toward the door. "I have a mission here. I have responsibilities …"

"I thought I was your responsibility." Sam blurted out desperately, before he could stop himself.

Dean paused, his eyes closing. He grimaced for a moment like he was in pain. "Don't." He said, but Sam knew his brother well enough to hear the unspoken plea. That was the moment he knew his brother was still present - buried deep, maybe - but present. He leaped.

"Dean, please! I … I need your help. Whatever they gave me … it's … my head feels like it's on fire! I'll never make it back … not like this. I … need your help. Please?"

Dean pulled Sam close for a heartbeat, as the brothers locked eyes. Then he slammed him savagely into the wall and turned away, whimpering. Sam watched, miserable, as his brother brought both hands to his temples and applied pressure. Dean's eyes were shut tight, his mouth screwed into a pained grimace. He whimpered again like he was in agony. He whispered, "Sammy … please …"

Sam shook off his stunned stupor and reached out for his brother at the exact moment Guyver entered from the other room. The preacher's surprise lasted only a fleeting moment, and then he was in front of Dean, cradling the boy's head in his hands. He forced Dean's head up and stared into his teary eyes. He began comforting him in a soft voice.

"Easy, son. You're okay now. You're fine. Dean? Can you hear me?"

Dean stared back, and whimpered again, and the small, sad sound was nothing like the strong, capable big brother that Sam knew. The younger boy was instantly furious. He pushed forward, grabbing his brother's shoulder.

"Don't touch him! Get away! What are doing to him? Dean!"

But Sam was stunned by how tightly the preacher held onto his brother. The older man suddenly grasped Dean by the chin, digging fingers into the delicate flesh on both sides of his face, and Sam was forced to let go or hurt his brother. He watched helplessly as Guyver recited a short incantation, staring deep into Dean's eyes the entire time. He watched as a shudder passed through the older boy. Guyver smiled and nodded then. He released his hold.

"You have a mission here, Dean. Do you remember what it is?"

Dean was suddenly calm. He nodded.

"You can fulfill this mission, can't you?"

"Yes. I … yes." Dean agreed.

"It's your job to keep us safe, Dean. You must protect us so that the Word has the opportunity to reach the people. Many will try to stop us, Dean. Many will try to silence us. They're Satan's pawns, and sadly, sometimes they come in the guise of the people we once loved." He paused sadly. "Dean, this is not your little brother. This is a grotesque caricature of the boy you helped raise to adulthood. He would stop us, Dean. He would prevent our message from reaching the masses. I'm so sorry, son." He placed a firm hand on Dean's shoulder and turned him to face Sam. "You know what you have to do here, don't you? You know what's right? Don't disappoint me, son. Don't let Satan's clever disguise fool you. I know you're not a fool, Dean. Look at him! You can see his true form if you look!"

Sam locked eyes with his brother then, and saw the older boy lingering there, just beneath the intelligent green eyes that had only ever held affection. Dean looked so sad, Sam thought his heart would break on the spot. "Dean …" Sam's voice quivered as he reached out to touch him, the preacher forgotten. "Dean, it's okay … it's … I … "

A single tear rolled down Dean's cheek. "I … Sssam … I …"

"Dean, come with me, now." Sam tried to pull him forward.

"Dean, your mission." Guyver said. "Don't fail us, son. We need you."

Dean closed his eyes. His spine stiffened, and he drew a deep, shuddering breath. "Sammy." He said, his voice pleading. "Go. Please. You have to leave. Please. I'm begging you." He opened both eyes, and Sam could instantly see that Dean, his Dean, had left the building.

Yet still, the younger boy shook his head, stubborn. "Not without my brother."

The boys' locked eyes for a long moment, then Dean stepped forward and pulled Sam into an embrace.

And Sam went with it, melted gratefully into it, right up until the moment Dean slipped the cold, metal cuffs over both his wrists.


	13. Trip

Sam paled, his eyes going huge. He backed away from Dean, bumping against the wall in his desperation. "Dean … what …"

But Dean turned his head to the side, toward the preacher. "Where?" He asked quietly.

Guyver paused thoughtfully, "The barn, I think. It's far away. Quiet. No one will hear."

Dean nodded, eyes downcast. He reached for Sam's arm, but the younger boy wrestled away, frantic.

"I'm not!" He said, "Dean, stop this. Don't … don't do this!"

Dean looked up then, into his brother's eyes, his expression unreadable. He spoke to Sam like he was talking to a child.

"You need to come with me, Sam. Do you understand? You have no choice now."

Sam shook his head desperately. "No! Dean! I don't! What? Are you going to just drag me across the encampment kicking and screaming? Cause I'm not just gonna let you quietly lead me off to some secluded barn someplace and do God knows what!"

"Sam. Don't."

"I can call for William," Guyver offered.

"No!" Dean was quick to argue. "I'll take care of it."

"Dean! Listen to yourself! You'll take care of IT? I'm not an IT, Dean, I'm your brother! You have to snap out of this … whatever!"

"Sam …"

"No, Dean! You want me gone? Fine! I'm gone. Take these off."

"Dean." Guyver cautioned. "Don't be misled. The restraints are needed. You know that."

"Shut up!" Sam practically screamed. "Leave him alone! Whatever you've … you've done to him, you're going to regret it! Do you hear me! I won't let this go! You can't have my brother!"

Guyver stepped forward then and whispered something in Dean's ear. The boy frowned and shook his head. "No. That's … no."

"It will be for the best, Dean. You'll see." Guyver spared a quick glance at Sam as he moved to the other room.

Suddenly, Sam had a terrible feeling he wasn't going to like whatever it was the preacher had just suggested. His eyes watered. "Dean," He pleaded. "Whatever he has in mind … don't … don't let them … Dean, please! Come on, take these off and I'll go. I promise!" He held up his hands, pleadingly.

Dean reached out and grasped the middle chain of the cuffs, resting his hand there. He looked into the younger boy's eyes. "It's … okay, Sam. I won't … you'll be … it's okay, alright?"

"No Dean! It's not! You have to let me out of these! I can't … I can't defend myself with these on! You know that! You know what he has planned!"

"Sam, I …" But Dean stopped as the door to the hallway opened and Jaime stepped inside. She carried a doctor's bag, bursting into a grin when she saw them.

"Hey!" She hurried over. "I wondered what happened to you two." She grinned, her gaze moving from Dean to Sam. Then her eyes fell on the cuffs, and her smile faded. "What's … what's going on?"

"Jaime! Run!" Sam warned. "You have to go! Get help!"

But she stood, frozen, looking from one to the other. "Sam? What …?"

"Jaime! Please! Go! It's not safe!"

"No, Sam … I'm not … not leaving you like … Dean? What's going on?"

Dean opened his mouth to speak, but Guyver beat him to it. He swept across the room to Jaime and cradled her head in both his hands, just like he'd done with Dean.

"Jaime! Thank you for coming so quickly. Did you bring the drug?"

Jaime looked confused. "Yes, of course." She replied, "You said you had a horse that needed …" But her voice trailed off as the preacher stared into her eyes. He repeated his incantation, and Sam watched in dismay as Jaime's spine straightened and a shudder wracked her slight form.

"I need you to administer the drug, Jaime. It's your mission. Can you do that?"

She nodded, confused, "Of course … I … of course."

"You know that you're here to keep our animals safe, right? We need you Jaime. If this …" He gestured widely, "This … our way of life is threatened, the animals will be put down. You don't want that, do you? That would be the opposite of what you've dedicated your life to doing, yes?"

She nodded.

He smiled, leading her gently to Sam. "That's my girl. Dean understands his mission too. Don't you, Dean? And he's willing to see it through, no matter how difficult it is. Can you do the same for us, Jaime?"

"I can … my mission …" She repeated, emotionless.

Guyver smiled, clapping his hands together gleefully. "Good! Then we agree. Jaime, I need you to administer the drug to Sam so that Dean can take him safely to the barn without anyone getting hurt." He stepped back.

Jaime stood still, brows drawing together. "To Sam?" She repeated, looking at the taller boy. She shook her head, looked down at her bag, then back to the preacher. "No …" she said, confused. "The drug … it's for horses. Not, not safe. Not for Sam."

Sam felt himself begin to breathe erratically. He couldn't remember being quite so terrified in … well … maybe ever. To have Dean right here, and have him do nothing to stop this. Sam didn't think he could bear it.

"Jaime. Don't!" He pleaded. "Dean! You heard her. It's not safe! He's going to kill me!"

Dean and Jaime stood silently in front of the terrified Sam, eyes locked, neither quite comprehending was what supposed to happen.

"Jaime." Guyver interrupted. "I thought I could trust you? I thought you cared about our mission? About what we do here?"

She looked over at him. "Of course. I do. I … I care."

"Then administer the drug."

She paused another moment, then nodded. Setting her bag on the floor, she withdrew a syringe and a brown bottle of liquid. Clearly printed on the label in bright blue lettering were the words, "Not for Human Consumption." She rose and faced Sam, taking a step toward him.

But he slid backward along the wall until he was in the corner and could go no further because the desk was in the way. He was full-on hyperventilating now, begging with both Dean and Jaime to stop what they were about to do.

But Jaime advanced on him, loaded syringe in hand, and Sam could see that it was a wicked-looking instrument - clearly also intended for something much bigger than himself. When he made a move to try and clamber over the desk, Dean moved in and wrapped iron arms around him, holding him from behind with his arms pinned firmly to his sides.

"No!" Sam moaned as he felt the needle plunge home in his upper arm. "No! Dean! Don't …!" But whatever was in the syringe was fast-acting. Almost immediately, Sam felt his muscles constrict. He'd never felt anything like it before. He tensed all over, a charlie horse forming in his right leg, and he cried out in surprise. His heart rate felt like it doubled, and suddenly, he could hardly breathe at all. Next, his head began to spin, and not just his head, but his thoughts and memories too. Suddenly, they were all around him, spinning outside his body, and Sam could see them. They materialized in the form of words like FEAR and ESCAPE. BROTHER was swirling just below his right ear. And PAIN just above it. Sam's eyes followed the words as they whirled and tumbled and changed color. They were alive - breathing, and they were the most beautiful things he had ever seen.

As he slouched down the wall, supported from behind from the warmth of Dean's body, Sam followed the words and the letter trail they blazed through the air. His mouth fell open in wonder, and cuffed hands reached out to try and capture LAPTOP. It was burgundy, outlined in orange, and it hovered there, just outside his reach. He scuttled forward along the floor, knowing he could touch it if he just tried harder. But again, it eluded him, and Sam decided it must be further away than it looked - like a mountain range that seemed close until you started walking toward it.

And then a mountain was there, small enough that he could fit the whole thing in the palm of one hand, but it was so beautiful, Sam was afraid to touch it. It was blue and white and silver snow sifted down across it like a snowglobe only without the glass. If Sam looked real close, he thought he could make out tiny angry sheep moving back and forth across it.

"Ohhhh …" He breathed, enraptured. But his breath caught, and his chest seemed to seize up at the same time. Sam felt himself sliding down the edge of a cliff. He was helpless and picking up speed, and he dug his heels into the concrete to try and slow his out-of-control descent. And then he was tumbling over the edge, and it was hot, so hot. Sam saw sweat from the tips of his hair form puddles beneath him, and his last coherent thought was that maybe he'd drown in them.


	14. Interlude

It was dark inside the old barn, and quiet. Falling down and forgotten, the structure sat on the very outskirts of the encampment.

Dean had heard about the barn, but he'd never been inside until today. The barn was a sort of fortress used to protect The Word. Those who tried to silence The Word were brought here and silenced themselves. There was a freshly dug cemetery out behind the barn to attest to The Word's power.

Dean had brought his brother here just this evening.

It was dark inside the barn, and quiet.

Except for the sound of Sam's suffering.

Dean sat across from his brother and rocked quietly back and forth, his arms around his knees, face buried. For some reason, Dean was unable to bring himself to leave. He knew someone would come looking for him soon, but he couldn't find it within himself to care.

He'd done something horrible, something he knew he was going to regret for the rest of his life. Or maybe he was about to. The answer wasn't clear.

He just couldn't quite put his finger on it.

He'd brought his brother here just this evening because Sam needed to be silenced. He threatened The Word, and protecting The Word was Dean's mission.

But before that, Dean thought he'd had another mission.

But that seemed like a lifetime ago. Probably that mission had ended when his new one had begun, but Dean wished he could feel convinced.

He looked up and over at Sam, frowning. The younger boy sat with his back against the wall, cuffed hands above him - secured to a rung bolted to one of the boards. His hair was saturated with sweat, his eyes wild as they made desperate circuits of the room. Whatever he was seeing made him cry out in fear and cower into himself, his boots scrabbling uselessly against the rotted wood of the floor. Dean looked around, trying to see what his brother saw, but the only thing visible was darkness and a few faint shadows from the three-quarter moon where it penetrated the broken timbers.

Sam sounded terrified - like a wounded thing -his voice raspy, mostly from calling out a single word over and over again.

"Dean!"

Sometimes the word came out loud and forceful, like Sam was angry. Other times it was just the barest whimper that Dean had to strain to hear.

It was the small, broken version of his name that set Dean to rocking with his head buried in his arms.

That version, spoken with such pain and disbelief and regret behind it, made Dean feel disoriented, like something was trying to shake loose inside his brain.

But he had a mission. Failing was not an option.

He rose to his feet and stumbled drunkenly away, leaving the barn behind him.


	15. Deprogramming Dean

Ron pointed, "Dean's car."

Danny nodded as he pulled in beside the Impala. Both men climbed out of Danny's old truck and peered inside.

Danny shrugged, "Looks like it always does, Dad."

Ron frowned, he was worried. "It's not like Sam to stand us up. The car's here. He's here too." He glanced over at his grown son, "You bring a weapon? Just in case?"

Danny nodded, "Brought my .45. And this. He lifted up his shirt to reveal a knife holster that held a knife with an intricately carved handle. Ron looked up at his son questioningly, not recognizing it.

"Dean's." Danny said shortly. "Found it upstairs when I was gathering them both some extra clothes. Dean never lets it out of his sight. I think he said once their dad gave it to him. I know he'd want it."

Ron stared. Something about that knife sent a goose over his grave, and he had to suppress a shiver. "I don't know, son. If Dean's not in his right mind …"

"Then he'll never see it. Don't worry, Dad. Something just told me to bring it."

Ron hesitated, then spoke his mind. "Listen, son." He started, his tone capturing Danny's attention immediately, "I know you're worried about Jaime, but we need to focus on Sam and Dean first. We need back-up, Danny. The sooner the better."

Danny stared, swallowing hard, but he knew his father was right. It went against every chivalrous bone in his body not to just grab the woman he loved and start running, but he knew they needed to corral their forces first. He nodded, wiping his face with the tail end of his t-shirt. "Damn, it must be a hundred degrees out here."

"You're not kidding. Let's find some shade."

Walking across the compound, they realized that it must be too early in the day for a tent service. Either that, or maybe it was too hot. The place looked nearly deserted, with only a few stragglers milling about here and there, gathered together under any shelter that offered shade, no matter how small.

Reaching the tent, Danny pulled aside a flap, and the two men stepped inside. They heard low voices immediately, but the sudden transition from the blinding outdoors to the darkness of the canopy left them both temporarily blind.

As their eyes adjusted, they noticed a small cluster of people seated in a circle at the front of the tent. Guyver was there, along with ten or eleven other people that neither man knew. Jaime was there and so was Dean. It looked as though their sudden arrival had interrupted a meeting. Danny heard chanting and the words of some sort of incantation before the voices stopped and two dozen eyes turned suspiciously in their direction.

Dean and Jaime rose, sharing a quick look. Then Jaime turned and exited quickly out a back entrance. Danny flinched but stood his ground. He greeted Dean warily as the boy strode slowly toward them.

"Dean."

Dean smiled a confused smile. "Danny. Ron. What are you doing here?"

Ron studied the boy, noting his dilated pupils and confused demeanor. Dean looked like death. It was clear he hadn't shaved in days or slept either. He was a good ten pounds thinner than when they'd last seen him, and he had a way of speaking that simply … wasn't Dean.

The boy sounded … hopeless. But Danny smiled back like he noticed none of it, "We came to talk to Jaime. You know, my boy here wanted one last try." He clapped Danny on the back.

Dean nodded, "Oh, well, she just left. I think she had some animals to attend …" Dean trailed off.

Danny suddenly spoke up. "Hey Dean, what happened to the Impala?"

Dean frowned, "She's, uh, parked out in the lot."

"Yeah, we saw. I mean, who vandalized her?"

Dean cocked his head, "What?"

Danny nodded. "She's all keyed to hell and gone. Tires slashed. Headlights busted out. Looks like someone took a baseball bat to her." He met Ron's glance over the top of Dean's head.

"Oh." Dean said. "Oh, I didn't know."

And at Dean's admission, at his obvious apathy over something disastrous happening to his baby, both men knew that there was something seriously wrong with the boy. They held bated breaths.

"Oh, uh, I guess I should go take a look then." Dean decided, swiping a hand across his face as though to wake himself up.

"Come on, we'll show you." Danny offered, leading the way.

As they walked, Ron talked, "So, uh, you seen Jaime, Dean?"

"Yeah, Ron. Yeah, I have. She's, uh, fine. You know. They k-keep her busy."

Ron made a mental note. He'd never heard Dean stutter before. Even after everything they'd gone through six years ago - when Dean thought he'd lost Sam to a Djinn - even after watching the hideous creature drag his teenage brother brutally across a parking lot by his feet - even then the boy had never exuded anything but confidence.

They approached the Impala, and Dean stopped. "She, uh, she looks fine from here."

Danny snorted, "Not when you see the other side, Dean. Try to stay calm, okay?"

Dean nodded, and as they came around the back of the Impala and got their first clear view of its still-pristine paint job, Danny's right hand clenched into a fist. Not knowing how strong the boy might be while under whatever spell this was, Danny made the first swing count. When Dean turned around to face him, a questioning look in his eyes, Danny made his move. He put everything he had behind it, and his punch downed the younger boy like a sack of potatoes.

Dean was out.

They hurriedly manhandled him into the backseat of the Impala.

Danny tossed Ron his keys. "Dad, follow me in the truck." He reached under the front wheel well for the spare key and came up dry. "Sam must have the spare." He grimaced. He briefly considered frisking Dean for his set, but the fear of waking the boy prematurely held him back. "Go ahead, Dad. I'll hot wire it."

Ron nodded and climbed behind the wheel of the ancient Ford. He was first out of the lot with Danny just a few moments behind him. The small caravan made its way out onto the asphalt of the main road and turned toward town, sweltering summer heat rising in sickly waves from the softening pavement.


	16. Desperation

Dean was so comfortable. He couldn't remember the last time he'd slept in a real bed instead of on a blanket on the hard ground. He stretched luxuriously, humming in satisfaction. It was cool here, too. He hadn't woken up with his clothes stuck uncomfortably to his skin, though a sour smell did waft up to him when he moved. He wrinkled his nose in alarm. Damn! Was that him?

He opened his eyes.

Danny and Ron Ritter watched him cautiously from the only table in the motel room. They had cups of coffee before them and a box of donuts in between, and Dean was suddenly so hungry that tears came to his eyes. He sat up, rubbing the sleep away.

"Ritters." He said, grinning. "You just buy those to torture me? Or do I get one?" Dean gestured to the donut box. "Holy shit, is that coffee?" Dean grabbed the cup closest to him and downed what was left in two gulps, not caring that he'd just commandeered Danny's drink.

Danny and Ron exchanged grins then, and Danny pounded Dean on the back, releasing an imposing cloud of stink into the air. "It's good to have you back, man."

Dean sniffed and grimaced. "Damn! What the hell? Is that me?" Dean noted the closed bathroom door and stood up, calling out.

"Sammy! Zip it up in there! I got dibs on the shower." He leaned cautiously over Ron, shooting him an unspoken apology for the smelly intrusion, and snagged a small, glazed piece of heaven. He stuffed half of it unceremoniously into his mouth, mumbling around it. "Sam! Come on, man! I stink!" He strode over and pounded on the door.

"He's not in there, Dean." Ron enlightened him.

"Oh! Okay" Dean shrugged, and pushed the door open. He glanced back at the two men seated at the table. "Give me five … make it ten minutes." He grinned, and stepped inside, closing the door behind him.

It wasn't until halfway through his shower that he thought about the implications in Ron's words. He frowned, a sinking sensation forming in the pit of his stomach. He shut the water off and stepped out, not even bothering to dry off. He wrapped a towel around his waist and yanked the door open.

Dean stood staring at the two men at the table, water running off him in streams. "Where is he?" He demanded, suddenly terrified to hear the answer.

The two men at the table exchanged glances. Danny spoke up, "We were hoping you could tell us?"

Dean blinked. "You don't know where he is? You haven't heard from him?"

Both men shook their heads. "Not for three days now." Ron offered. "He called us for help. That was Wednesday. He was supposed to meet us here. When we drove up yesterday, he was gone. The Impala was gone. His duffle bag is still here though. We've tried calling, but it just goes straight to voicemail."

Dean stared, "Help with what?"

Ron weighed his next words carefully, "Help with you, son."

Dean shook his head. "Help with … Why?" He frowned in confusion. "Did he say why?"

Danny suddenly spoke up, "Dean, what do you remember about the last few days?"

Dean thought back. He had memories of sleeping on the ground, of being hot and uncomfortable. He remembered a headache and had a vague recollection of meeting with Jaime in a room somewhere. She'd been distressed, he thought. He moved to the bed to sort through his duffle, grabbing clean boxers and jeans, thoughts pinging around inside his head leaving disconnected trails of fear behind.

"I'm … I don't know, exactly." He admitted, pulling on both pieces of clothing right there in front of everyone, his mind elsewhere. He sank down onto the bed. "Why do I have this … this terrible feeling all of a sudden?" His breathing picked up. Both hands moved to his temples.

Ron stood and made his way over to the younger boy. He sat down beside him on the edge of the bed. "Tell us what you remember, son. Anything at all. Even if it seems insignificant. Maybe it will help jog your memory."

Dean cradled his aching head in his hands. "I … I think. I remember I was looking for a place to take a leak. Sam … he wouldn't come along. Said he'd meet me at the concession. But I don't … don't remember ever meeting up with him."

Ron nodded, "Sam said something like that too. He said you disappeared after that. He didn't see you again until that night's tent service. You were standing up on the stage with Guyver like his bodyguard or something."

Dean glanced up, frozen. "I was? Sam said that? What else did he say?"

Ron hesitated.

"Ron? Come on, man. No holding back. I need to know."

"Sam said you told him to leave - to leave and to not come back."

Dean stared. "I … what?"

Ron gazed at him in sympathy. "I think they had you under a spell or something, son. When we found you yesterday, your eyes were dilated. Your speech was confused. Something was definitely wrong with you. We brought you here. You slept for about 14 hours, and whatever it was seems to have worn off."

Danny spoke up, "Maybe they administered some type of drug?" He rationalized.

And it was those exact words that brought Dean's memory crashing back to him in a brutal avalanche of horror. His face blanched. His eyes went wide. He stared at Ron without seeing him.

Suddenly Sam was there in his mind. He was there, and he was begging Dean to help him. Dean remembered Jaime and a wicked-looking syringe. Sam was hysterical. He tried to get away, but Dean … Dean stopped him.

He stopped him.

He held him.

Held him as the painful-looking needle sank into his brother's arm and Sam whimpered and shook. Dean could feel his brother's body pinned tight against him plain as day even now. His slight form had trembled in horror at the painful intrusion. He'd begged Dean to help him … but instead … instead Dean had lifted him over a shoulder and taken him … somewhere ... and Dean was sure Sam had been in handcuffs.

Dean shot to his feet, startling both men. He began pacing, beating his forehead with his fist. "Where? Dammit, Dean, think! Where?"

"Dean!" Danny approached, trying to comfort the distraught boy. "Dean, take it easy. Try to calm down."

But Dean couldn't hear him. He was lost inside his own memories of a rotting barn and darkness and … what he thought was impending death. He'd left Sam there. Chained him to a rung in the wall and just … left. He saw Sammy as he'd seen him that last time. Sam was terrified. He was scared and crying and trying to get away from the demons that plagued him.

Hallucinations.

Sam had been having hallucinations. And bad ones too, judging by the noises he'd made.

He'd called out over and over again. Dean remembered hearing one word.

"Oh my God!" Dean whispered. "What day is it?"

"What?" Danny asked, confused.

"The day!" Dean exploded, grabbing his boots and pulling them on over bare feet. "What day is it?"

"It's Saturday."

Dean's eyes widened. Saturday. He'd chained Sam to the wall and left him there on Thursday night. Sam could last three days at the most without water … and it was so hot ...

Dean did the calculations.

If they didn't find him today, His brother was a dead man.

Unless, of course, Death had already been by.

He turned tortured eyes on his friends. "Sammy. I … I know where he is. I know … I remember now what we did … what we did to him. He's dying." He pleaded with Danny and Ron. "I chained him up. I left … left him there. In the sun. In the heat. With no water. That was three days ago."

Danny gasped. "How far?"

Dean blinked.

"Dean!" Ron barked. "How far?"

Dean raised horrified eyes. "The old barn, back at the encampment. It's about a mile out."

Ron's face was grim. "You still got that cooler in your truck? And bolt cutters?" He addressed Danny, glancing around for the ice bucket.

"Got 'em." Danny answered grimly. Striding to the door.

Moments later, the cooler was filled to the brim with ice, gallons of water tossed in on top. Dean grabbed the blanket off the bed, all the towels and washcloths from the bathroom, and the first aid kit, and jumped into the truck beside his friends, slamming the door behind him as Danny pushed his old truck past its limits to rescue the boy none of them were willing to lose.


	17. Dying

Sam whined.

Rats.

Pain.

The rat was much bigger than a house. And long. It was the longest rat Sam had ever seen. It stood on his hands, weighing them down. Sam knew if that rat gained one more ounce, it would break both his hands. But then he thought if that rat were just to chew off the fingers … just the fingers … maybe he'd be free.

No. Wait. Not the fingers. The wrists. LongJohn needed to chew off his wrists. Otherwise, it was no good.

It was his hands, his damned hands. They were going to be the death of him. And water. Oh … water ...

"Chew, fat rat." Sam chanted, and giggled. "Fat … rat. Fatty … ratty." Sam thought he could easily drink that whole rat neat.

"Please!" Sam whispered, screaming.

He shifted, and the movement caused his blistered face to fall against his raised arm. He cried out in agony.

Still the summer sun continued to fall through the broken timbers. It landed on Sam's depleted form and toasted him like a piece of meat at a barbecue.

Sam kicked out with his feet to dislodge LongJohn's brother. Sam called that one Dean. It was all muscle and formidable and had a fierce expression. It had shown up in tandem with the long rat that now sat … _the rat sat_.. _the fat rat sat_ … on his hands. And when another, scrawnier rat had tried to bite the longer rat, Dean rat had bared its teeth and dared the intruder to finish that thought.

"Easy, Dean." Sam giggled. "The rats back at the gym need you."

"Ow!" Sam cried, trying to jerk away as LongJohn went to work on his hands. He tried jiggling the cuffs, but it was no use. All the weight of Sam's upper body rested on his hands. Over the course of the days and nights, Sam had used his feet to try and keep the rats at bay. The result was that he no longer leaned against the wall, but rather hung from it by his hands. He was too far out from the wall and too weak to get the leverage to position himself more comfortably. LongJohn knew Sam was all big talk that he couldn't back up.

"Don't do it!" Sam threatened. "Don't you do it, rat …" his voice trailed off. "Where's Bobby?"

Bobby hadn't been round in a while. Bobby had grey hairs sprouting out his ears, and black marks on his back that looked like used motor oil. Dean and Bobby tolerated each other, but that was all. Dean's priorities were clearly with his brother.

Bobby was brazen though. He'd scurried right up Sam's chest and taken a nibble at his neck. It had tickled, and Sam had giggled -right up until it didn't tickle anymore. Then he'd begun to cry.

Sam's emotions were beyond his control these days, and he alternated between giggling, crying and screaming in frustration.

Well, back when he could still scream.

And Bobby - he was stubborn and refused to be dislodged. He just dug in his sharp, tiny claws as Sam twisted and turned to try and throw him off.

But that had been days ago. Sam no longer had the strength to change position, and his head mostly hung straight back now, hair brushing the floor. If Bobby put in an appearance now, he'd have a vast expanse of bare neck to feast upon.

"No!" He blurted, kicking out. But Dean and his friends just came right back. Sam had lost both boots a day ago - first one, then the other - and since, the rats had made steady work of his sweaty socks and skin.

Sam knew he was dying.

And it was going to be horrid.


	18. Nearly Too Late

They were a half-mile out from the barn, using a side road that cut in from the other direction, when Danny's ancient Ford suddenly took a final labored inhaled and wheezed its last breath. Danny cursed, pounding the wheel with his hands.

"Not now, you cranky, old son of a bitch! Not Now!" He cried, trying without success to resuscitate the blown engine.

But Dean wasn't waiting. He could see the barn from where they sat by the roadside. He leaped from the truck, grabbed the bolt cutters and a water bottle, and took off running.

After a shared glance, Danny and Ron sprang into action too. Popping the top on the cooler, Ron plunged the clean towels down inside - as many as would fit. Then, between them, they lifted the heavy burden down from the truck bed and set off in the direction of the barn.

"I'm coming, Sammy." Dean shot mental messages of comfort to the boy whose life it was his mission to protect. "And once you're safe, man. I'm gonna do some real damage, little bro. I promise." Dean gritted his teeth when he thought back to the torturous way he'd treated the kid who meant everything to him. He really just wanted to die - the burden of guilt was just that heavy - but who had time for that shit? His brother needed him.

Dean approached the barn cautiously, glancing in all directions. Obviously, he wasn't the only one who knew about this place. He could see every area except for the makeshift cemetery out back, and Dean shuddered as he suddenly envisioned the row of hastily dug graves that bore testament to the craziness of this cult and its insane leader.

All looked quiet.

Dean slipped through an opening in the disintegrating door, and his eyes shot immediately to the far left wall where he'd left his kid brother cuffed and helpless.

Once his eyes adjusted to the darkness, Dean could see it was empty.

So someone had come. Someone had come and taken Sam away because there was no way the kid was getting out of those cuffs, on his own, in his condition.

Dean's eyes flooded with unshed tears. He couldn't quite wrap his head around what he was seeing. He'd expected to find Sam - a living, breathing version of him - one that wasn't too far gone for help. He'd been so sure - Sammy would still be here, waiting for him - waiting for him like always.

Because no matter how bad it got, there was no way Dean wouldn't always be there to make it all better.

It couldn't end like this. It couldn't. This couldn't be the one time that Dean was too late to make things right.

Not like this. Not when it had been Dean who'd caused it.

He fell to his knees, breath failing him. His head bowed.

He knew what he had to do, and, damn, he didn't know if he could.

The cemetery. There had been five filled graves in the cemetery on Thursday. Dean remembered because even in his drug-or-what-the-hell-ever-induced coma, he was still rocked by the sight, repulsed by it. They were killing people here - innocent people who only came looking for the family members the cult had kidnapped.

They were buried here - fathers, husbands.

Brothers.

Dean let out a sob.

And that's when he heard it.

It was the sound of a shovel striking dirt. The clink of the metal striking the earth. The short, "Shwa" of the shovel sliding down. Then the uneven patter of heavy dirt falling down as it was tossed from the shovel.

Someone was digging.

Digging a grave, probably.

Dean heard the shovel stop. He was frozen, listening, his body refusing to move.

The shovel was tossed to the side. Then a grunt and a slide, like someone was dragging something.

The soft, muffled whump of a lifeless body falling into a shallow hole.

Then his brother's horrified voice, sharp and stricken, "Don't!"

Dean moved then, by God. He was out the back of the barn and barreling into William before the man even had the opportunity to turn around. Dean took him down in a single painful tackle, and rained blow after blow down upon the man's face. When he was done, William was a bloody heap of unconsciousness strewn carelessly across a mound of freshly dug earth.

Dean turned.

Sam's eyes stared helplessly, half-mast, from the floor of the grave where William had already tossed a shovel-full of cold dirt on the younger boy's chest. Dean's voice shook as he climbed down inside and placed his hands on Sam's face.

The younger boy cried out in agony at the touch, and Dean could see then that Sam's face was red and raw from the sun. Blisters covered every inch of exposed skin along his brother's face and neck and even on the backs of his hands.

"I'm sorry, Sammy." Dean hitched, grabbing the boy under his shoulders and pulling him close. "I'm so damn sorry. I got you now. Come on. Let's get you out of here." He slipped an arm under Sam's knees to match the one under the boy's emaciated shoulders and lifted him effortlessly from the grave.

Sam struggled weakly. "Nuuuuh. Not … dead. Don't!"

"Shhh. It's me, Sammy. You're safe now. Come on. Let's find some shade, right? Ron and Danny are right behind me." Dean carried the lifeless form back inside the barn and placed him gently on the floor next to the water bottle. He tilted the boy's head up. "Here, Sammy. Cold water. Drink for me, okay?"

But Sam couldn't. He was too far gone. The water just dribbled into his parched mouth and over his destroyed lips without going down his throat, and Dean shook him, scared.

"Come on, Sammy. You gotta get some of this down for me, okay? Please? For me?"

Sam looked like he might be trying to focus his eyes. He looked at Dean.

And giggled.

"Rat." he said, or so Dean thought. He tried again.

"Sammy, come on. I got you, man. You're gonna be fine, but you gotta drink for me, okay?" He put the bottle to Sam's mouth again. Sam pushed it away.

"Like m'rat's neat." Sam sighed in explanation.

Dean blinked. "Okay, then. We'll do this the old fashioned way, and he poured the water in his hand and sprinkled it gently over his brother's overheated face. He pulled Sam's unresistant mouth open and sprinkled water inside.

Then Ron and Danny were there, cooler between them. Ron inhaled sharply at the state of Sam's face. "Is he … is he okay?" He asked.

"He's gonna be." Dean swore, as they worked together to get Sam out of his clothes and to lay the soaked towels over him.

"Bobby!" Sam cried out, as Dean placed a cool washcloth over the nicks on his neck. Dean smiled, trying not to think about what might have caused the small injuries. "Bobby's not here, Sammy. But I'll let him know you were thinkin' about him."

"Bit me." Sam breathed, eyes closing. "Bobby …"

"What's he saying?" Danny asked, pulling the remnants of Sam's socks off.

Dean shrugged, "Out of his head with the heat."

Then they heard the whine of the ambulance in the distance, and Dean's body relaxed. "They're coming, Sammy. You hear me? Help is coming, little bro. Just hang on for me, okay?"

Sam nodded, "Help Dean …" his voice trailed off. "Dean …"


	19. Fallout

Dean stared down at the ravaged kid in the hospital bed. The strange marks … rat bites. He shuddered.

Second-degree burns on Sam's face, neck, hands.

Severe dehydration.

The doctor's report - Sam was at high risk of infection, rat bite fever, severe scarring.

Skin cancer - years down the road.

Dean had done this.

He'd let that … siren, witch or whatever the hell he was … let him brainwash him into hurting his kid brother.

He'd restrained Sam - held him so he couldn't get away from that vicious-looking needle - the needle that had been meant for a horse and not for a scrawny kid. He remembered how Sam had struggled, the look of betrayal in his terrified eyes. He remembered the way he'd winced in pain as the needle had sunk in - the way his poor body had seized up and begun shaking almost immediately. Dean had hurt him, held him down so somebody somebody else could hurt him, and he hadn't done a thing to help.

And then the barn.

He'd left Sam.

Alone.

Cuffed.

Hallucinating.

And he'd walked away. Just like that.

He remembered it all now. He remembered how Sam had whimpered as the hallucinations took him. He remembered his brother's feet scuffling helplessly against the boards of the floor as he struggled to get away from whatever was after him.

He remembered Sam calling his name, desperate for help, his cuffed hands struggling against the chains that bound him firmly to the wall.

But Dean hadn't helped him. Instead, he'd stood up and stumbled away.

He'd pushed Sam to the far recesses of his mind and forgotten him.

That wasn't something that Dean would ever do. Not to Sammy. Not ever.

And yet …

He looked down at the boy in the hospital bed.

Again.

Dammit.

His face, his neck - covered in greasy burn ointment, blisters everywhere. Some were filled with water, others with blood. His hands, his neck, and damn - his feet - covered in rat bites. They were watching him closely for a rash now. A rash meant rat bite fever and an extended course of antibiotics.

They were keeping Sam sedated because the pain from his burns and his wounds would probably be overwhelming otherwise.

Dean's fault.

All of it.

Dean wasn't going to cry. Dammit. He just wasn't. He'd done what he'd done. There was no excuse for it. But he had no right to feel sorry for himself. He was a selfish asshole, sure. But never where Sammy was concerned.

He'd be here for the kid when he woke up. He'd help him navigate the pain. And then he'd go and find the son of a bitch who'd manipulated him into doing the unthinkable. And that bastard would pay.

Dean smiled through reluctant tears. It wasn't pretty.

And it wouldn't be pretty.

But the bastard would pay.

"Sam, I'm sorry." Dean croaked, leaning low and whispering into his brother's ear. "Dammit, Sammy, I'm just … I'm sorry. All that shit I gave you about being weak and impressionable, and it turns out I was the one..."

Dean leaned against the bed railing and planted his forehead in his arms. "I'll find him, kid. I swear I will. He'll pay for this - for what he did - what I did. You almost died, Sam. Almost fucking buried alive. I … I just …" He let a single pain-filled sob escape. Then he was up and pacing toward the window, swiping at his face in frustration. He stood there swallowing, trying to get himself under control before the flood released.

And that's where Danny found him moments later.


	20. Choices

"Hey, Danny." Dean greeted, turning away and pinching the bridge of his nose.

"Hey, Dean." Danny replied softly, not wanting to disturb Sam. "They said one of us could come back. How's he doing?" He approached the bed and looked down at his friend. He whistled softly, "What are the marks all over him? They say?"

Dean's voice was gruff. "Rats. Rat bites."

Danny looked ill. "Oh, damn." he adjusted a piece of Sam's hair. "He, uh … did they start treatment for rabies or anything?"

Dean joined the younger man by the bed. "No, not rabies. They said rats rarely carry rabies. They're worried about rat bite fever."

Danny looked up, catching Dean's eye. "Never heard of rat bite fever. Is it serious?"

Dean shook his head, "They can kick it with antibiotics. If he has it, he'll get a rash on his hands and feet." Both men found their eyes suddenly drawn to Sam's extremities.

"Do they think he'll wake up soon?"

Dean sighed, "They're keeping him under. The pain…" Dean's voice hitched.

Danny frowned in sympathy. "Dean, you … it wasn't your fault you know. You gotta stop beating yourself up. Trust me, when Dad and I found you - you weren't yourself, man. Not even close." He placed a hand on Dean's shoulder. "Sam will know that."

Dean nodded, too tired to argue the point. He felt how he felt. No use trying to explain it to anybody.

"You wanna talk about it?" Danny asked, surprised when Dean didn't shut him down immediately.

The older boy hesitated, then began speaking as though he was trying to figure out himself where things had gone wrong. "They drugged him with something initially. I didn't find out til later. They had him in a back room. When I found him, he was out of it, you know? Like, completely. Took him awhile to come around, and then he went out again."

"You don't know what they gave him?"

"Not … not the first time."

"But, the second time?"

Dean couldn't look at his friend. "Horse tranquilizer, I think."

Danny looked up. "Horse tranquilizer?

Dean nodded, skimming past the question that he knew was forming in Danny's mind. "He … uh … Sam. You know, he knew what was coming. Tried to get away."

Danny didn't interrupt, realizing how difficult it must be for Dean to relive what had happened.

"I … he tried to get away. Tried to climb up and over a desk, but I stopped him." He looked over then, catching the younger man's eye.

"I grabbed him. I … I held him - pinned his arms to his side. I watched the needle go in. It was freakin' huge. Sam … he begged me … begged me to stop it … to help him."

"Dean …"

"I just … I just held onto him, you know? I felt his body stiffen up. He … uh … it hurt. He made this noise. I'll never forget it. And then … he just slid down the wall, and I went with him. I held onto him. He was seeing things - tripping."

Danny grimaced, blinking rapidly. He reached out absently and adjusted one of Sam's tubes.

"And then I threw him over a shoulder and carried him out to the car and took him to that barn. I think I … I put him in the trunk. I drove out there and just … just left him. Cuffed him to a wall." Dean paused. "He … uh … he was calling out for me. Kept saying my name." Dean turned away. "But I got up and just walked away. Went back to my mission. My mission was more important than my brother. How did I let that happen?"

Danny was about to answer when Ron walked in. The older man smiled at them both, then looked down at Sam, his smile fading.

"Sneaked past the nurse." Ron divulged. "How is he?"

Dean strode quickly toward the door, brushing past his old friend. "I'll … uh … go. Let you two visit for a bit. I'll … I … uh … need coffee."

And with that, he was gone.

Ron looked over at Danny. The younger man shook his head, grimacing as they both moved to stare down at one of the boys they both considered family.

###

Dean stood outside the hospital, leaning against the wall for support. He felt sick. Talking about what he'd done - it hadn't helped. It just made it more … real.

Dean knew he'd never be able to face his brother when he finally came around, never be able to look him in the eye again. He remembered everything his brother had said to him. Remembered his fear and surprise when Dean clapped the cuffs on him, remembered how he'd promised to leave if Dean would just release him, remembered …

Oh hell, he couldn't do this anymore.

He'd never wanted to run more in his life than he wanted to run right then. Hurting Sam … it just … it was something Dean couldn't deal with. He'd spent his whole life kicking the asses of anything or anyone who'd looked cross-eyed at the kid, and in the end, he had been the monster Sam should have feared the most.

He could climb behind the wheel of the Impala right now and just take off, just drive. Drive and not come back until he'd found every one of those sons a bitches and made them pay.

It's what Dad would have done.

Dean sucked in a surprised breath.

It's what Dad would have done.

Suddenly, a lifetime of memories assaulted him - him or Sam - pick one. One or the other of them grievously injured with just each other to lean on. It was always during the lowest of the low times that Dad would disappear in the name of revenge. Revenge on the wendigo or the ghoul or the ghost who'd hurt one or the other of his boys. And it was always Dean or Sam who was left to pick up the pieces. It was Dean keeping vigil at his brother's bedside as they adjusted Sam's breathing machine or Sam holding Dean's hand while they stitched the older boy's guts back in. Dad would always cut out. He'd always run away.

It was the cowardly thing to do, and for the first time ever, Dean could finally understand his father's compulsion.

It was guilt-driven.

He'd felt responsible.

He'd felt responsible and couldn't face the idea of seeing the looks of reproach in his boys' eyes.

Dean got it now.

He could just climb behind the wheel and drive away.

Sam would be safe in the hands of Ron and Danny. They'd never let him want for anything.

Dean was totally in the clear if he wanted to bolt.

It's what Dad would have done.

He nodded. Taking a deep breath, he pushed away from the wall.

And turned and made his way back inside.

He was not his father.

And Sam needed him.


	21. Cold

Sam was awake.

And he was sick.

Really sick. Really just felt like hell.

Because the dehydration and burns weren't enough, rat-bite fever had set in. They'd started Sam on a round of antibiotics right away, but it wasn't soon enough to stave off the effects of the disease.

He was wracked by fever and nausea. Worse though, was the debilitating muscle ache that seemed to affect his whole body. He sat in the bed, trying to move as little as possible, because movement meant overwhelming pain.

Sam's life at the moment pretty much sucked.

Worst of all though - something was really wrong with Dean.

Sam remembered the overwhelming relief he'd felt when he'd awoken in the hospital bed and found Dean asleep in the chair beside him.

Because Sam remembered it all - everything. He remembered the needle and the room and the trunk and the barn.

He remembered the rats.

He remembered William showing up and telling him Dean was dead.

Dean was dead.

That was when Sam had pretty much given up.

The bastard was going to bury him alive, and Sam hadn't been able to find the strength to fight back. His brother was gone.

Except that he wasn't.

When Sam woke up and saw Dean … well.

It was a relief to say the least.

But was Dean even happy to see him? Sam wasn't sure. The older boy was distant, almost a little cold. It wasn't like him.

At first, Sam was sure it was just the guilt of what he'd done while under the preacher's spell. And he'd let Dean know he didn't blame him for any of it.

But Dean, as usual, sure blamed himself. Sam was certain he was going to cut and run.

Just like Dad.

He had that wild look in his eye that Sam had seen a million times over but never on Dean.

"Dean," He croaked out, when they were finally alone.

The older boy stood up from his chair where he'd been camping out by Sam's bed. "Yeah?"

"Don't go. Please."

Dean frowned, his lips parting in confusion, "What?"

"Stay, please? I … I need you." He tried to grasp the older boy's hand, but the pain was stifling. He whimpered and dropped his hand back to the bed. He closed his eyes. "Don't. Don't be Dad. Okay? You're not him."

Dean grimaced, unable to stand seeing Sam in such pain and knowing he was the cause. "I'm not going anywhere. Not until you're better."

"Sammy."

"What?"

"You haven't … called me that since I woke up. Haven't called me anything, really. Do you blame me for this? Because I wouldn't leave when you asked me to?"

Dean blinked. "Of course not."

Sam was in too much pain to raise his hand and wipe away the tears. "Because I couldn't leave, Dean. I couldn't just leave and let you there, under his spell or his enchantment or whatever it was. Okay? I couldn't. I was selfish. I wanted my brother back." He trembled. "I hate to ask …"

"What?"

"My face. Could you? The salt burns."

Dean nodded, reaching over with a tissue, "Yeah, sure." He dabbed away the stray tears, careful not to hurt Sam more than necessary. But when the younger boy's expressive eyes met his own, Dean halted, guilt burning a hole in his heart. He looked away, clearing his throat. "Did I get it?"

Sam sighed, "Yeah, thanks."

"No problem."


	22. Meningitis

"Dean hates me."

Ron startled, "What?"

"Dean. He's mad at me or something. I guess … maybe I should have left back there when he told me to. Then he wouldn't be carrying around all this guilt." Sam knew he sounded like a jilted school girl, and he hated himself for it. Damn hospital drugs never did agree with him.

Ron smiled, "Dean does seem to carry around more than his share of the weight of the world, Sam, but that was going on long before this ever happened. I'm sure he'll come around in time." The older man stood up and stretched. Damn hospital chairs never did agree with him. He sat down on the edge of Sam's bed and studied him, grinning. "You two have the most complicated relationship I've ever seen. Sometimes I'm glad Danny is an only child."

Sam snorted.

"Just means you both got something worth losing, you know. That's a good thing. It's not everyone who has that. Count your blessings, son."

Sam nodded, then bit his lip. He looked up at his old friend, and Ron could just see the vulnerability oozing from every pore. "What if he doesn't? Come around, I mean? What if he pulls a John Winchester and just bolts?"

Ron blinked. "Son, have you met your brother? Dean would no sooner run out on you when you're hurting than he would cut off his own arm. You're forgetting what he went through six years ago to get you back from that djinn. You think he's gonna let go now?"

"I don't know." Sam shrugged. "Maybe."

"Bullshit."

Sam's eyes widened into saucers. "Did you just …?"

Ron smiled, cutting him off. "I did. I can cuss like a sailor when the need arises. Now I know you're hurting, and it's probably the drugs messing with your head, but you're not thinking straight, Sam. Everything is going to be fine. Wait and see."

Sam smiled briefly and lay back, wishing he felt as confident as Ron that everything was going to cycle back around, but when Dean and Danny walked through the door a moment later, his fears were just solidified. Both boys approached the bed, smiling, and Sam did his damnedest to smile back.

"How ya doin', Sammy?" Danny asked, eying the younger boy with affection.

"Good, I guess. Moving still hurts but not so much as yesterday." He admitted, glancing at Dean. "I really am feeling better. The doctors say I might be able to leave in a few days." he lied, skipping over the fact that he did, indeed, feel like shit.

Dean nodded, smiling. "That's real good to hear, Sam." He turned to Ron, "Wanna take a break? Danny offered to hang around a bit while you and I head back to the motel. I wanted to see if we could get a line on which way they headed."

Sam knew that Dean meant the encampment, and he understood how important it was to find them and get Jaime back, but he couldn't help feeling a bit of disappointment that Dean had been missing from his room all day and that he apparently planned to stay that way.

Ron read Sam's mind. He patted Dean on the shoulder. "Nah, you stay, son. Sam needs you. Danny and I will handle it."

Dean shook his head. "Danny and I already talked it out. He's going to hang out here and keep Sam company. I need to put the word out to some of our contacts. See if anyone has seen anything." He headed toward the door. "Hey, thanks Danny. I'll be back later, okay?" He stopped with his hand on the door, hesitating before looking back.

"Sammy, you … uh … need anything before we go?"

Sam stared, desperately willing Dean to see how badly he needed his big brother right then, but if Dean wasn't willing to stay, Sam wasn't going to compel him. "No, I'm good." He said softly.

The corners of Dean's mouth turned up in an almost smile before he nodded and pulled the door open. Without another word, he disappeared down the hallway.

Sam leaned back, swallowing hard. He couldn't meet the eyes of his old friends just then.

Danny cleared his throat, "Well, I guess we'll see you later, Dad. Sammy and I have a date with a Discovery Channel marathon. Famous shipwrecks!" He feigned enthusiasm, rubbing his hands together excitedly. "Sounds good, right Sam?"

Sam nodded, not trusting himself to speak. He could feel his two old friends exchanging worried glances, but the nurse chose that moment to come in and take his vitals, and Ron made his exit.

"So, how's he doing?" Danny asked, stepping back against the window well where he'd be out of the way.

She frowned, "He has quite the fever." She studied the boy in the bed. "How do you feel, Sam? Any stiffness in your neck or sensitivity to light?"

Sam nodded, wincing. "Yes to both."

She nodded, "When did it start?"

"Not sure. Earlier today, I think."

"Okay. I'm going to send someone in to get a blood sample. Just be a few minutes. Do you want something for pain?"

"Yes, please." Sam whispered.

Danny stepped forward, worried. "What's that mean? Is he okay?"

She smiled at the older boy's concern. "It's probably just a side effect of the rat-bite fever, but we need to make sure he's not heading into meningitis. The blood test will tell us. If we turn anything up in his blood, then we'll do a CT scan and then a spinal tap if needed. But try not to worry. Like I said, it's probably nothing." She finished her ministrations and left them. Only then did Danny notice the bright pink flush to Sam's cheeks and his lethargy that he'd mistaken for melancholy. He scooted right up onto the bed beside his friend.

"You're feelin' pretty rough, aren't you, Sammy? You should have said something to Dean. He'd never have left if he'd known how bad you're feeling."

Sam shrugged, "Let him go. He doesn't want to be here. That's pretty obvious."

Danny studied his friend. Sam's eyes were closed, but there was a tear balancing on the edge of one long lash. "He's just feeling guilty, Sam. He'll get over it. Especially once he realizes how rotten you feel. Can I call him? Ask him to come back?"

"Don't, please?" Sam begged, finally looking at him. "Just let him go do whatever he has to do. I don't want him here if being around me makes him feel sad. There's no sense in both of us feeling like crap."

Danny grinned at him, "You two are way too complicated. Well, come on then. If we're watching a marathon, let's get to it. Right? I got a nice big cup of ice right here with your name on it."

Danny reached over and snagged the remote off Sam's bed. He dialed up the shipwreck show and settled back in the armchair to watch.

Once he was sure Sam was engaged, Danny let his gaze wander. Sam's hands and feet were bandaged with big, bulky layers of gauze, and his face was bare, but slathered in burn ointment. Poor kid looked like a toasted marshmallow. He sighed quietly to himself as he remembered Sam's words about getting released in the next day or two. It was obviously a patent lie, and Danny was surprised Dean hadn't called him out on it. Sam was a long way from discharge, judging by the looks of him, and now this fever and stiff neck thing.

"Hey Danny?" Sam's voice interrupted softly.

"Yeah Sam?"

"Something's happening. I feel … I feel strange …" the words tumbled off into the abyss of silence.

Danny shot up from his chair and took a long hard look at his friend. Sam was out of it, eyes open but not focused on anything. His mouth hung open and his face was beet red.

"Sammy!" He shook the boy gently. "Sammy! Come on. Snap out of it!"

But when Sam just inhaled and let the air out in a long sigh, his body seemed to deflate right in front of Danny. He went lax, unresponsive.

Danny shot out the door yelling. "Hey! We need some help in here!"


	23. He's a Witch

Dean steeled himself, pasted a fake smile on his face and pushed through the door of Sam's hospital room, stopping in surprise.

It was empty.

No Sam. No Danny.

He frowned, willing away the niggle of worry that he felt beginning to form down deep. He spun on his heel and approached the nurse's station.

"Sam Winchester?" He asked. "His room's empty.

The nurse nodded. "They took him down for a procedure. He should be back shortly."

"What sort of procedure?"

"Spinal tap."

Dean's eyes widened. He had heard about those. Supposedly, they hurt like a bitch. "Why?" He barked.

The nurse looked up from her keyboard. "Because the doctor thinks he may have meningitis."

Dean tried not to explode. "Where did they take him?"

"Neurology. Second floor."

Dean shot off toward the elevators.

###

Danny sat in the freezing hospital room, holding Sam's hand as they positioned him sitting up and leaning forward. He was barely conscious.

"Sam, this is going to sting a little, but it's very important that you don't move at all." The doctor warned, as he positioned the needle. And when it sunk home, Sam stiffened and cried out.

"Squeeze my hand, Sammy." Danny coaxed him. "Come on, man. It's almost over."

Sam squeezed, but it didn't help. There were too many bandages. He just felt so sick and so alone - even with Danny right there beside him. And now this … this unbearable pain. He sobbed. "It hurts! Danny!"

"Don't move, Sam!" The doctor warned, 'We're almost done."

"I'm right here, Sammy. Come on, man. Breathe through it. You got this."

Out in the hallway, Dean was searching the Neurology Department for signs of his brother, when he heard Sam's voice cry out in pain that something hurt. He followed the voice, slipping quietly inside the room and taking in the sight of Sam propped forward with a nurse on either side of him, holding him in place while a doctor held a needle buried in his spine. Danny held his bandaged hand, but Dean's heart broke into a million little pieces at the pain on his little brother's face.

"Please!" Sam cried, "I can't!"

Dean strode forward, all business. "Sammy. Sammy, look at me." He coached.

Sam's eyes opened, and he gazed up at Dean in misery.

The older boy willed himself not to cry at the look on Sam's face. "Listen to me, Ron and me - we got a lead, Sammy. We got a lead on the people who did this to you. It's almost over, okay? Do you hear me? We got them. It's almost over."

Then the doctor was done, and they placed Sam gently back on the pillows, his face pale and sweaty, eyes closed.

"That's good." He breathed, his voice hitching. "I … I hurt, Dean."

Dean locked eyes with Danny, and the two switched positions with Dean perched on the edge of Sam's bed. "I know, Sammy." He said, taking the boy's bandaged hand. "I know. It's going to get better, I promise. It will, Sam."

But Dean's prediction wasn't to come true.

"Your brother has meningitis."

Dean sat expressionless. He'd known the news was coming. "Is he going to be okay?"

"We can treat him. He's very sick. You should know this. Meningitis is serious. It's an inflammation in the meninges of the brain, and the form that Sam has - the bacterial kind - is highly contagious and swiftly moving. We think we caught it early enough, but only time will tell."

Dean cut right to the chase. "What's the worst that could happen?"

The doctor paused, weighing his words. "At its worst, bacterial meningitis can cause death within a matter of hours. But that's if it's not being treated. As I said, I think we caught Sam's infection in time. We'll need to wait and see."

Dean was silent, almost accepting. Ron spoke up. "When will we knew whether he's out of the woods?"

"He's quarantined right now. We should know something in about 72 hours. In the meantime, you need to know that Sam's condition is highly contagious. If any of you begin suffering the symptoms of meningitis," The doctor handed them each a printout listing the issues to look out for, "Tell us immediately."

"Quarantined?" We can't see him?"

"You can see him. You can't touch him. He's very sick. Once he's no longer contagious, you'll be able to sit with him."

"Is he in pain?" Dean asked quietly.

The doctor hesitated before nodding. "He's pretty miserable right now. I'm sorry."

"He can't have pain killers?" Ron asked, feeling sick.

The doctor nodded. "He can. We're dosing him for the pain of the burns and the bites. But nothing stronger than acetaminophen. We don't want to risk masking any worsening symptoms of the meningitis. Sam is the only one who can tell us how he's feeling. If things begin going downhill for him, we need to know as soon as possible."

"When can we see him?" Danny asked, rubbing a hand across his face.

"You can go on in. One at a time, please. And no longer than 15 minutes every hour. He needs rest. You'll need to suit up each time and keep your distance. It's more for his safety than it is for yours. His immune system is pretty shot at the moment. If you bring in outside germs, well. His body may not be able to fight them off. No touching, no leaning down, no reaching inside the tent for any reason. Is that clear?"

They nodded, and stood as the doctor made his exit from the small, private waiting room. Ron spoke up, breaking the silence. "Go on in, Dean. Your brother needs you."

Dean nodded, stepping right across the hall to Sam's room. In the outer area he donned a gown and mask. Then he followed the instructions posted on the walls and washed his hands in the sink, following up with a squirt of hand sanitizer. When he'd taken all precautions, he stepped inside Sam's room.

The younger boy was in bed, a clear, vinyl tent covering him from head, halfway to his knees with his hands inside the plastic contraption. His feet moved restlessly, and he tossed and turned beneath the tent. Dean could hear him whimpering softly. He stepped to the bedside, clearing his throat.

"Sammy."

Sam's eyes opened, and he winced, "Dean … please. I need something … something for this headache. Can you tell them, please?"

"Listen to me, Sammy. They … they can't give you anything else just yet, okay?"

Sam's eyes welled, "Dean, please! I need something!"

Dean stepped forward. "Sammy, you … you're pretty sick. But they've started the antibiotics, and you'll begin feeling better any minute now, you hear me? Any minute. You just got to give them time to kick in."

Sam tried to nod, but it hurt so badly that he sobbed instead. "I … I don' t know if I can."

Dean pulled up the wheeled stool and sat down by his brother's bed. "You can. You hear me? You're stronger than this Sam. You can do this. I'm here. And I'm not leaving. I'll help you through it, okay?"

Sam's voice, resigned and weak, "Okay."

Dean smiled, "Good, now let's talk. We know where they went, Sam. And soon as you're all better, I'm going after them. They're not getting away with this. Nobody hurts you like this and gets away with it. Not while I have a single breath left in my body."

Sam turned his head toward his brother, wincing. "You're not mad at me anymore?"

It was Dean's turn to tear up. "I was never mad at you, Sammy. I was mad at me. The things I did … to you. Leaving you there like that … I just. I'm sorry."

"Wasn't you. Was him. I saw what … what he did to you … and to Jaime."

Dean's eyes narrowed, "What?"

"It was an incantation. It put you both un-under his control."

"An incantation?"

"He's a witch, Dean. Not a siren. A witch."

Dean stood up, suddenly grinning. That changed everything. Now he could make a plan. "Sammy, you're awesome. I ever tell you that? I love you, man."

Sam tried to smile. "Me too." He slanted his eyes over at Dean and reached out a shaky hand. "You leaving? You said you … wouldn't go."

Dean swallowed hard. "I-I can't take your hand, Sam. You're too sick. I could give you germs and your body can't shake them right now. But I'm not going anywhere, okay? Just out to grab the laptop. Now that we know what we're dealing with, I can research the hell out of it. Besides, Danny and Ron are waiting to see you. Only one at a time so you can get your sleep. I'm not going anywhere, Sam. I'm not leaving you. Not ever again."

"Okay," Sam croaked, his eyes closing and a soft sigh escaping "... not leaving."

Dean turned and exited the room, shedding his protective clothing as he went. He felt hope. He felt alive again, like he had a new reason for living. He hurried back to tell the others the news, not noticing the man who stood in the hallway just outside Sam's room. He was dressed in scrubs and a mask with only his dilated eyes showing.

William watched Dean hurry past, then turned his attention to Sam's room.

The boy should be all alone now.


	24. Taken

William took a step toward Sam's room and stopped. Danny was suddenly in the hallway, his hand on the door. He glanced at William, shooting him a quick smile, and then he was inside and suiting up.

William stared.

Next time.

###

"Someone's always with him." William informed Guyver.

The preacher grimaced, his feet propped comfortably on the doctor's desk. This was taking longer than he would have liked.

Sam was right downstairs and yet still unattainable because of his brother and the other two. The boy was the only real witness to what was going on in the encampment - the only who knew for sure how the others had been taken care of. Sure, there was Dean, but he was … manageable.

Sam wasn't. Guyver had tried and failed. The kid was psychic or something.

He had to be killed. There was no other way.

He blew out his breath in frustration. "How hard can it be to kill one kid, William? You try my patience."

"I'm sorry. I'll try harder."

"No. You won't. I'll handle this from here. You may go."

William bowed his head and exited the room, leaving the preacher alone with his thoughts. And when the young neurologist suddenly stepped into her own office, she stopped in surprise at the man seated so casually behind her desk.

"May I help you?" She asked, slipping off her fashionably red scarf and hanging her stylish coat on the rack. Maybe he was the family member of one of her patients.

The man smiled, standing up and coming toward her. He reached out, catching her eye. His hands cradled her face and he smiled.

"Yes, you may. I need your help, Dr. Borden."

###

Dean sat in the waiting room, pecking away at the keyboard and keeping an eye on the time. In ten minutes, it would be his turn to see Sam again, and the kid was looking and feeling much better, though he was still weak as a kitten. The antibiotics had started to work, and the headache was gone. Sam was able to sleep peacefully now, and he smiled every time Dean entered the room. The doctor had informed them that the tent would probably come off later today and then they'd move Sam to a private room.

His brother was getting better, which was a relief. Dean knew now exactly what Guyver was. He knew how to resist his pull. The medicine bags he, Ron and Danny wore around their necks may not smell the best, but they'd keep the witch at bay.

The bastard wouldn't be seizing control of Dean's mind anytime soon.

And once Sam felt well enough, Dean would have his revenge.

But Ron entered just then, pulling Dean from his musings.

"You're up, son. Sam's looking good. Real good." He grinned.

"Yeah?" Dean grinned up at the older man. "He in a better mood today?"

"So far, so good. But I wouldn't be bringing any rats into the conversation." Ron joked, knowing that Dean had finally decided to stop blaming himself. Joking about it made it all a little better somehow.

"He tell you I had a rat named after me?" Dean bragged. "I feel special."

"As you should." Ron returned, and both men snorted. "I noticed I didn't get a rat named after me, after all."

Dean chuckled, but it came to an abrupt halt as Ron rooted through Danny's duffle. "I almost forget, Dean. Danny said to give this to you. He grabbed it before we left home. Thought you might want it. He knew it was special." Ron held out the knife that Dad had given him - the knife from Sam's premonitions. A chill traveled down Dean's spine as he sat staring at the hateful thing.

It had found its way to him. To Sam.

He shuddered.

"Ron ... I ..." He reached out and took it, gently, still horrified.

Ron frowned, "You okay, son? Want me to put it back in the bag?"

Dean considered it, but then, for whatever reason, he shook his head. Standing up, he threaded the holster through his belt, positioning it where he could easily reach it. "No, uh, no. That's okay. I got it. Thanks."

Ron nodded, smiling. "Better get in there. He's asking for you."

Dean nodded, still feeling a bit stunned. He slipped out the door and stopped in surprise.

They had Sam off the bed and in a wheelchair, and the poor kid looked like he could barely stay in it. He drooped forward, unable to hold his head up. Dean shot inside.

"What's going on? Why's he out of bed?" He knelt down in front of his brother and pressed him gently back into the chair. "He can't even sit up. He shouldn't be in a chair." Dean looked up accusingly. He didn't recognize the young doctor who'd moved his brother from the bed to the chair. Her name tag said Borden, but as far as he knew, she wasn't Sam's doctor. "And who the hell are you?" He barked.

She stammered a bit, "I'm Doctor B-Borden. I'm taking care of Sam while his regular neurologist is off."

Something smelled funny. "Since when does the neurologist come down and move patients around physically? All the nurses off today, too? He stood up, looking closer. "What's wrong with your eyes?" He asked, his epiphany coming a second too late.

Dean realized exactly what was happening just as Guyver stepped up behind him and brought the butt of his gun down on the back of the older boy's head.

Dean went down bleeding at Sam's feet, and the younger boy sat horrified. He tried to yell, but Guyver quickly shoved a sock in his mouth and tied a mask on over it. Sam sat, too weak to raise his hands, helpless, as the two wheeled him out of the room and to the elevator.


	25. Two Floors Up

Sam sat terrified. He was in a bad situation, but even worse - They'd left Dean hurt and bleeding on the floor.

Sam had never felt so helpless. The room they'd taken him to was only two floors up, but it might as well have been in a different country.

Nobody knew where he was.

And he couldn't move, not at all.

Sam couldn't raise his head to look around him, but he judged it was an office; he could see the legs of furniture pieces that looked like a desk and an easy chair. There was a coat rack behind him, and a small garbage can next to it.

And on the floor, stretching for what seemed like endless miles, was the hideous yellow carpet of his premonitions. He guessed it was supposed to be stylish. In reality, it was just ugly. And impractical. Sam suddenly wondered what Bobby would say about the impossibility of bright yellow carpet.

"Idjits." He snorted, medication winning out.

He was going to die here.

By his brother's hand.

###

"Dean! Wake up!"

Dean groaned. Damn. His head. When did his head explode?

"Guhhhhh."

Danny shook him gently, "Dean, come on, man. You okay? Where's Sam?"

What? Sam? What about Sam? Dean tried to corral his thoughts, but they circled down around him like vultures on roadkill.

"What?" He managed. Witty.

"Sam's gone, son." Ron's voice. "Can you tell us what happened?"

And just like that, Dean's mind snapped to. He jerked in Danny's arms, his eyes shooting wide.

"Sam? They took him." He struggled to sit. "Son of a bitch. She took him."

"Who, Dean?"

A crowd was drawing now, nurses and aides, gathering to see who needed help.

"Borden." He remembered. "Dr. Borden. Where is she?" He addressed the gathering crowd.

"Joan? Probably in her office." someone said. "Upstairs. Should we call security?"

Dean struggled to his feet, bolstered on both sides by Ron and Danny. He nodded, "Yes, send security up there. What's the office number?"

" Dr. Borden's name is on the door. It's the last door on the left, two floors up."

###

"I think I'd like to see the boy suffer, Dr. Borden." Guyver admitted, snicking the lock on the reinforced door. Ever since they'd had a hostage situation in the hospital a few years back, all the doors were now reinforced.

Joan stared blankly at the preacher. "He's suffering … enough." She answered.

Guyver grinned, looking at the helpless kid in the chair. "Nah. I don't think so." He knelt in front of Sam, eye-to-eye, satisfied to see fear lingering there. "You and your brother have caused me quite a bit of trouble." He smiled.

"Fuck ... you."

"You're going to pay for that, Sam." He said, winking.

He stood, eyes darting around the room.

They fell on Joan's bright-red scarf that hung on the coat rack. It was one of those infinity-type ones with the ends stitched together to form a circle. "Your scarf." He said. "Bring it to me."

After a moment's hesitation, she complied. Guyver took it. He plucked a large screwdriver from the top of her desk. "DIYer?" He asked her, holding up the tool.

"Left behind. They were working … working on the ventilation system."

"Perfect!" He approached the young neurologist. "Now, I assume you know how to make a tourniquet, Joan? May I call you Joan?"

She nodded, brows drawing together.

"Good! Let's just put a tourniquet around his … um … let's see … his neck. How about that? Just a little wrap and twist?" He placed the items in her hands, stepping back for the best view.

She frowned, looking at the items in her hands. "His neck?" She asked blankly. "Can't. He won't be able to breathe."

"Of course he won't. And let's take it nice and slow, shall we? I want it to go on and on."

She didn't move.

"Go on." He prompted.

She looked pleadingly at him. "I … I took an oath."

He stepped forward, catching her face in his hands and staring into her eyes. "You can, Joan. You can do this."

She murmured, "I can do this."

"Good girl. Now get on with it." he stepped back again.

She stepped up behind Sam and steadied him gently in the chair. She slipped the scarf over his head.

"Please." Sam whispered. "Don't."

She paused and grimaced, her hands shaking. Then she threaded the screwdriver carefully through the scarf and began to rotate it, drawing the fabric tight against Sam's throat.

He whimpered, trying to raise his hands. He failed.


	26. Dreams Don't Always Come True

"Dr. Borden, Are you in there?" The security guard tapped twice on the door.

Silence.

He tapped again, "Dr. Borden?"

But the office appeared to be empty.

###

Sam felt the cloth tightening around his throat, felt his heart racing. He could feel his pulse pounding in his temples, in his cheeks. His face growing hot. He could barely breathe. His hands plucked feebly at his throat.

"Not too quickly now." Guyver directed. "Let's just hold it right there for a bit. I want to watch his face."

Joan paused in her work, her face blank. She nodded.

Guyver smiled and glanced around him. Joan had a podium pushed into one corner beside her desk. He tugged it out and rolled it in front of him, leaning comfortably against it to get the best view.

Now he felt at home.

"You may continue, Joan. You're doing so well."

###

The guard was turning away from the door when three men approached him at a run. "Unlock it!" The battered one barked.

The guard frowned. "Who are you?"

"Listen," The older man said. "We believe Dr. Borden in is trouble. You need to unlock that door. We need to check on her."

"What kind of trouble?"

"Fuck this!" Dean yelled, snagging the man's keys from his hand. "Which one is it?"

###

Sam was dying. He could feel his life leaving him. The room was dim now, the carpet just a pale shadow in the background. His head felt like it was going to erupt, and in his confusion, Sam pictured brains like lava shooting out the top of his skull and pooling beneath him.

Still, the doctor tightened the tourniquet.

Sam couldn't breathe at all now. His neck - it felt like it was separating, everything inside being crushed to pulp. He couldn't plead anymore. He couldn't speak. He couldn't fucking whimper.

The tourniquet tightened.

"Stop. Right there." Guyver grinned, studying Sam. "That's perfect."

Sam slipped from the chair to his knees.

###

"Which one!" Dean practically screamed.

"Here!" the guard wrenched the keys away. He fumbled with them for an instant before drawing the one he wanted. He slipped it into the lock and shoved the door open.

Dean pushed past him, surveying the horrifying scene in front of him in a split second. Sam, on his knees on the floor, the doctor behind him, garroting him, and the bastard preacher standing off to the side, watching the scene with glee.

Dean roared, shoving the woman aside. He grabbed his brother's shoulders and tried to untwist the garrote, but it was woven too tightly around Sam's slender neck.

Sam was blue, dammit. He was blue.

Dean grabbed him by the hair, yanking his head back, apologizing. "I'm sorry, Sammy. I'll make this quick, okay?" He slipped his knife effortlessly from its holster and slid the tip beneath the scarf under Sam's left ear. In one swift, left-to-right motion, he severed the red fabric that choked his brother. He lost his grip then, and Sam fell to the floor, a sea of red chiffon following him down. Once released, it fluttered to the floor on top of him, covering his neck like blood. A portion of the thin veil fell across his eyes.

Sam lay, trying to draw a single, labored breath. He stared up at his brother through a film of red, seeing the knife in his hand and feeling the pain in his throat.

They'd lost.


	27. Chapter 27

Sam lay still in his brother's arm, his whole body hurting. He tried not to cry as he fumbled with his hands to put pressure on his neck.

Dean had cut him.

His brother had cut him, badly - just like in his premonition. And the thought of it, of how Dean would feel once he came back to himself, it made Sam inconsolably sad.

Nothing would ever be the same after this. Dean would be forced to go on without him. He'd have to face tomorrow knowing he was responsible for Sam's death, and Sam didn't want that. He didn't want that burden to fall on his brother's already bowed shoulders.

It wasn't fair.

He gurgled as Dean pulled him into an embrace.

"I gotcha, Sammy. You're good. We're good." Dean rocked him gently, shaky fingers threading through sweaty hair.

Sam's eyes closed. He reveled in the feel of his brother's strong arms, in his warmth. He'd missed this these last few days. He would miss this again forever. It didn't matter how bright and happy Heaven turned out to be, Sam knew he would always miss the feel of his brother's healing touch. He struggled to speak.

"It's … it's okay … Dean."

Dean leaned in to hear, "What, Sammy?"

"S'okay. Not … not your fault. It was the … the … premonition."

Dean frowned. "What?"

"Don't … don't blame yourself. It … it doesn't … hurt." Sam lied.

Dean's eyes widened, "Sam, I didn't cut you. I would never cut you."

Sam gazed up at Dean with such devotion in his eyes, it hurt Dean to look at him. "I … it's okay. Dean …"

Dean hugged him close, realizing that he wasn't getting it. "Let's get you some help, okay, Sammy? Just hang in there for me man, please?"

Dean reluctantly gave Sam up to the nurses who suddenly flooded the room. "I'll be right here, Sammy. I'm not going anywhere." he promised as Sam grasped his hand in a sudden death grip.

"Dean … don't … go."

Dean shook his head. "Not going anywhere little bro. I'm gonna be right here when you wake up."

Sam smiled through tears of pain and tried to nod, but the pain in his neck throbbed. He sobbed instead.

And Dean gritted his teeth at the pain his baby brother had been subjected to because of one crazy asshole. He stayed with Sam as they wheeled him out the open door, glancing back only once at the insane man standing handcuffed behind him.

The preacher stared back, smiling.


	28. When the Spell Breaks

Dean wasn't sure how many more nerves he had left. Sitting by his brother's hospital bed while the kid recovered from yet another blow was becoming too much like habit, and the older boy was mad at the world today. Why couldn't Sam catch a damned break?

Sam was a good kid. He always tried to do what was right. He saved people, hunted evil, and for what?

To be savaged by rats? Wracked with fever? Almost garrotted by the damned doctor who was supposed to be helping him?

Dean wanted blood. He wanted vengeance. He wanted to gather up all the people who'd ever hurt his brother clear back to that second-grade teacher who'd once pulled a terrified Sam out of his seat by the hair - wanted to gather them all in one room and just let loose.

Dean smiled, picturing it. His fingers fell to the medicine bag that hung from a length of rawhide around his neck. A matching one now hung from his brother's wrist.

Freakin' witches, man.

He shuddered.

"Dean?"

He leaned forward, "Right here, Sammy."

"Dean?"

"Yeah, man. I'm here." Dean stood and leaned over the bed so Sam could see him better. "How you feeling?"

Sam gazed up at him, confused. "I … what happened?" He lifted a hand to his throat. "Throat hurts."

"I know." Dean gently batted the younger boy's hands away. "Easy. You, uh, you got choked. Almost to death."

"Choked?"

"Yeah, man. Guyver got the doc under his spell, and she tried to off you with a scarf."

Sam's mouth twitched, "A scarf?"

Dean nodded, smiling. "A freakin' scarf, Sam. It wasn't even a nice scarf. Ugly as shit."

Sam looked thoughtful. "Was it red?"

"Yeah. Like I said. Ugly. Who wears a red scarf?"

Sam sighed in relief. "I remember red. You … you had a knife. I thought …" His eyes went wide, and he stared up at Dean horrified, "I thought you … you …"

Dean's eyes watered. "I didn't Sammy. I didn't cut you. I cut the scarf. You were choking to death. It was too tight to get loose, man. I had to."

Sam nodded. "What about … him?"

"Police have him. They found all the graves. Danny and Ron are at the station now, trying to get news on Jaime."

Sam's eyes widened, "Jaime! Dean, we have … I have to …" He tried to sit up, only to clutch at his throat and fall backward.

"Whoa! Easy, little bro. You're not going anywhere."

Sam pleaded, "Dean, you have to go help them find her. Please. I … I don't think I can."

Dean shook his head. "Not leaving you, Sam. Not again."

"Dean! It's Danny!"

"Danny understands. We'll help when you're able. Not before. They don't have any information yet anyway."

Sam sighed, resigned. "What do they know so far?"

Dean ran a frustrated hand through his hair. "So far, people have been returning home. Without Guyver onsite to keep things going, the spells are wearing off. The accountant has turned up so far, so has the teacher. No word yet on Jaime though."

"So, did they question them? Don't they know where the encampment ended up?"

"They're working on it."

"What about … " Sam paused.

"What?"

"The one who was going to … to bury me?"

Dean's mouth formed a hard line, remembering. "William." he spat the name like it burned him. "He's mine anyway. I hope they don't get him. Me and William, we have things to talk about."

Sam looked alarmed. "Dean. Don't. Whatever you're planning. Just don't. Let the police handle it this time."

Dean stared down at his little brother - the kid he'd spent his life trying to protect. And in the back of his mind, he heard Sam's weak pleas for William to stop as the bastard had dragged Sam into that grave and began dropping dirt onto him. He'd have buried Sam alive if Dean hadn't shown up just in the nick of time.

Buried him alive.

Sammy.

Yeah, he and William were going to have a nice little chat one day real soon.

But he didn't share his thoughts with this brother. Instead he just nodded and smiled and plucked a piece of Sam's hair out of his eye. "Whatever you say, Sammy. Just concentrate on getting better and getting the hell out of here, okay?"


	29. Plain Bad Luck

Danny fidgeted nervously inside the private interview room at the police station. To his left sat Ron, to his right - a husband of one of Guyver's followers. Two other nervous family members sat at the table across from them. One was a mother awaiting word on her daughter, another a teenage boy hoping for word on his brother. As one, they all looked up hopefully as the door opened, and two detectives entered.

The two men took chairs at opposite ends of the table. One had a legal pad and a pen. The other shuffled his stack of papers nervously.

"Well?" The teenage boy piped up. "Where's my brother? Is he even alive?" The kid's voice shook and his hands trembled.

The younger of the two detectives looked up from his papers. "Evan Greenway, the truck mechanic, right?"

"Yeah."

"We have men on-site at the encampment as we speak. They're searching for all of your loved ones. We don't have specific names on who've they encountered at present."

The room fell silent.

"When will you know?" Ron's calm voice sounded loud in the small room.

The older detective smiled and poised his pen over his notepad, "Tell you what, let me get the names and descriptions of the people you're seeking, and we'll see if we can't speed this process up a bit, okay?" He turned to the boy. "Son, how old is your brother?"

"He's 28."

The detective nodded, writing. "Description?"

"Tall, crew cut. He has a scar over his left eye, and he has a slight limp too."

"Good. And he was recruited to work on company vehicles, most likely?"

The kid nodded. "I guess so. Ev … he's real good with engines and transmissions and stuff."

"So how does he usually dress? T-shirts? Jeans?"

"Khaki cargo pants mostly and t-shirts. Maybe a muscle shirt when it's hot like this."

"Approximate height and weight?"

The kid thought for a minute. "About 6' 3", maybe 170. He's super skinny."

The detective smiled. "Gotcha." He picked up his radio. "Conner, you there? Over?"

"I'm here."

"We need some names, You got an Evan Greenway yet? Tall, thin, crew-cut? Late twenties, probably wearing cargos and a tee shirt. He's the mechanic?"

"Uh, hold on. We're trying to get everyone into the tent. Gimme a minute. He called out, "Evan Greenway? We're looking for Evan Greenway?"

From a distance, they heard a muffled "Yeah." Then a conversation. "You're Evan Greenway?"

"Yeah, that's me."

"We got him, Cap. He's here and his eyes are clear."

The detective grinned. "Well, someone here wants to talk to him." He handed the radio to the boy and showed him how to use it.

The boy stared at the officer in shock, his hand shaking too much to operate the buttons. Danny reached over and pushed the button, holding the radio to the boy's mouth. "Go ahead." He smiled.

The boy gazed at Danny gratefully, and his voice shook as he spoke, "Hey Evan, that you?"

Danny let off the button, and Evan's voice came through loud and clear, but confused-sounding. "Yeah, is that you, Roddy?"

"Yeah, man, it's me. You okay?"

"Yeah, uh … yeah. I'm … good. Kinda … not sure what's goin' on is all. Everything okay there?"

Roddy grinned, "Hell yeah. It is now. Hey, listen. There's other families here that wanna talk okay? So you'll come back with the cops, right? You're coming home, yeah?"

"Yeah, Roddy. Yeah. I'm … I'll be there."

Roddy nodded, and Danny grinned, handing the radio back to the officer. He took it, smiling, and turned to the woman who sat next to the boy. And you're looking for your daughter, correct?"

She nodded, hands nervously twisting the strap of her purse, "Lana Marie Michaels."

The detective dropped his head, writing. "Age?"

"Twenty."

"Occupation?"

"Lana, she's studying to be a nurse."

The detective nodded. "Description?"

"She's about 5'7", 180 pounds. Long, red hair. She likes to wear jeans and long tunic shirts, or scrubs.

The captain keyed the radio again, "Conner, we need Lana Marie Michaels. Twenty years old. Long red hair. Probably wearing jeans or medical scrubs."

"Got it." Connor copied, repeating to the crowd on his end. "Lana Michaels? Is there a Lana Marie Michaels?"

Off in the distance, they could hear a girl's voice. "I'm Lana Michaels."

The woman gasped then, raising a hand to her mouth. Her eyes filled with tears as the detective handed her the radio and she began speaking with the daughter she hadn't seen in almost a year.

Danny and Ron exchanged hopeful glances as the man next to them began describing his missing 41-year old wife who cut hair for a living. But when the name went out over the radio, no one stepped forward. They could hear Conner calling her name over and over, then they heard someone from far away offer information. It was a woman's voice, hesitant and sad.

"I … I think Eileen might have been the lady who disappeared from camp about a month ago." The radio cut off then, Connor leaving his finger off the transmit button, and they couldn't hear anything else. Suddenly, he came back on, hesitant.

"We, uh, we're not certain on Eileen Flack, Cap. She's not here. We'll have to get back to you on that one."

The detective nodded, swallowing hard, and glanced at the woman's distraught husband. He nodded at the glass mirror that fronted the room, and the door opened. A female detective entered and motioned for the man to follow her. She smiled kindly at him and patted his shoulder as they left the room. "Let's get you a cup of coffee while we wait, Mr. Flack, okay? We'll have more information soon."

That left Ron and Danny still awaiting word. Danny's face was pale as he offered up the needed information.

"We're missing my fiance, Jaime Loggins." Danny began. "She's a large-animal vet out of Benton, Illinois. She has long, blonde hair. She's thin and likes to wear jeans and button-down shirts, usually plaid. She ties them in the middle when it's hot out like this and she's usually in boots because of the animal pens. Sometimes she wears one of those floppy sun hats. It's tan."

Danny was rambling, and he knew it. But he couldn't help himself.

"Jaime is 26." Ron added, and Danny nodded gratefully.

"Conner, we need Jaime Loggins. Twenty-six-year-old female. Slim, blonde. Maybe in a plaid shirt, jeans, boots. She's the animal doc."

They heard the detective at the other end make the call-out. Jaime Loggins? We're looking for a Jaime Loggins?"

Silence.

He called again.

And then a third time.

"Hold on, Cap. We have an infirmary here. Some of the folks are down with the heat. Brad's checking for Jaime and Eileen."

Danny chewed his thumbnail nervously, ignoring the sympathetic looks from Roddy and the girl's mother.

The radio squawked, and someone, not Connor, said. "Eileen? Are you Eileen Flack?"

They heard a faint, weak, "Yes."

"Okay, Cap." Connor again. "We got Eileen. She's being treated for heat, but the docs say she'll be okay."

The detective grinned, waving at the mirror. When the door opened, he relayed the information.

"Tell Mr. Flack his wife is okay, just being treated for the heat." He keyed the radio again. "What about Jaime Loggins? Come on, Conner. One more and we're good to go." He winked at Danny.

They heard the detective make his call again, "Jaime Loggins? Is there a Jaime Loggins in here?"

Then from far away, "Over here."

Footsteps. Then Connor's voice. "Are you Jaime Loggins?"

"No, she's … she's over there, I think."

Silence.

"Miss? Are you Jaime Loggins?"

"Miss?"

Nothing.

"Does anyone know for sure if this is Jaime Loggins?"

"Yeah, that's her."

A pause, then Connor's voice, "Can we get a doctor over here, please?"

Shuffling noises.

"Hey Cap, I got a victim here matching the description, and people say she's Jaime Loggins. But … she's … she's in a bad way."


	30. Danny's Breakdown

"So, you wanna go hang out at Bobby's for a while once they spring you?" Dean asked, shaking Sam's orange juice for him, much to his embarrassment.

"Dean, I'm not a baby. I can shake my own juice." the younger boy offered up sheepishly. He reached for the cup, hands recently released from the bandages. "I'm not an invalid, you know."

Dean grinned. "Yeah you are, Sammy. So just shut it, you big baby." Dean plucked the straw off Sam's tray and unwrapped it.

Sam sighed, giving up. He tried to sound exasperated, but inside, he was smiling. He'd never admit it, but he liked it when Dean went all protective. And he'd missed that of late. "I don't know. You think Bobby is tired of the old Winchester drama?"

"Bobby? Nah … he loves it. Gives him something to live for."

Sam snorted, "Well, we should at least ask him before we go moving in … again."

Dean shrugged, "I'll call him. He ain't gonna turn us away though, especially once he finds out you were in the hospital AGAIN." He couldn't resist the poke.

Sam looked at his tray overflowing with Salisbury steak, potatoes, peas, chocolate pudding, coffee and juice. There was even a side of peaches in a sealed cup. He glanced up at Dean, worried. "When's the last time you ate anything, Dean?"

Dean dismissed the question with a wave of his hand as he popped the top on the peaches. "I'm good." He waved the cup under his brother's nose, "Mmmmm … peaches." He grinned.

Sam studied him. He looked beat. And Sam knew he had to be starving. He pushed the pudding toward his brother. "I'll eat the peaches if you take the pudding."

Dean shook his head, "Nope. I'm not the one in a hospital bed, Sammy. That's all you." He pushed the container back over and reached to dig his phone out of his pocket as it began to ring.

He hit the answer button and put the call on speaker, and suddenly the room was filled with the sound of Danny's voice, loud and angry in the background. The boys exchanged stunned looks. In all the time they'd known him, they'd never known calm, easygoing Danny to raise his voice.

"Dean? You there?" Ron's voice asked over the commotion.

"Yeah, Ron. We're both here. I got you on speaker. What's going on?"

"We … got a problem." In the background, they heard something that sounded like Danny tossing a chair across the room. The young man's voice was hard as he demanded to know the location of the encampment.

"Is … is it Jaime?" Sam asked, suddenly dreading the answer.

"It is. Something's wrong. They have her, but they won't tell us what's wrong with her. Danny's … he's just about gone. Losing it in a bad way. I think they're one step shy of tossing him in a cell for the night. I … I could sure use some help, Dean. I'm sorry. I know Sam needs you …"

Sam spoke up then. "No way, Ron. I'm fine. Dean can help. Right, Dean?"

Dean nodded. "You know it, Ron. Let me know what you need, and I'm there, man."

"Talk to him? Calm him down? I don't want to see him cooling his heels in lockup before she gets here. They're bringing her in via ambulance to the hospital there. She should be there in less than an hour."

"Put him on." Dean countered.

They could hear Ron then, trying to draw Danny's attention to the phone. It took a while, but eventually, Danny came on the line.

"What, Dean?" He demanded, rudely, and even Dean flinched. This was not Danny.

"Danny, man, listen. Ron needs you to calm down. You're freaking him out."

Heavy breathing, then Danny's voice. "They won't tell us where she is, Dean. Something's wrong. She's hurt. She's not able to talk, and they won't tell us anything!"

"I know that, but listen. She's on her way here. And she's gonna need you to be calm and not all jacked up on grief. She needs you. Ron needs you. You gotta lock it down, man. Trust me, I have an idea of what you're going through, but this - it's not helping Jaime, and it's freakin' Ron out." Dean locked scared eyes with his brother. Sam motioned for the phone.

"Danny, we're here, okay? Dean's here. He'll meet the ambulance when it arrives. Just … just focus on getting here, okay? We'll find out what we can when they bring her in, and we'll call you as soon as we know anything at all. It's going to be okay, Danny. Jaime is going to be okay. You have to believe that."

Danny listened to both boys, but it was Sam's voice that finally broke him. He sounded close to tears, "Sammy, I … I just. What if … I can't … What if she's gone? They won't tell us anything. I'm afraid … They're scaring me, Sammy." his voice hitched, and both boys could hear Ron in the background, trying to soothe his distraught son.

"You can't think that way right now, Danny. You have to stay strong for Jaime. She's not dead, or they wouldn't bother to bring her here. She's alive, and she's going to need you. You need to try to get it under control, okay?"

Dean leaned in close, "One step at a time, man. Okay? Just focus on calming down enough to get here. That's the first thing you do, got it?"

Silence.

"Danny?"

"It's Ron. He's calming down a bit. I think we're okay now." Sounds of muted conversation in the background. "Yeah, we're good. Thanks, boys."

"You don't ever have to thank us for anything, Ron. You know that. Just get here, and be careful, okay." Dean offered. "You driving?"

"Yeah. I'll drive. We'll be along shortly." Ron promised, "Hey, how's Sam?"

The boys exchanged looks, touched that even with all he was going through, Ron still had time to worry about them.

"I'm fine, Ron." Sam piped up. "Honestly. I'm good. Just worry about Danny now, okay? And we'll see you when you get here."


	31. Jaime's Arrival

Dean stepped to the side as the ambulance pulled up. He watched as the door opened and a gurney was extricated. The slight form on the stretcher was undeniably Jaime, but if Dean hadn't known to expect her, he never would have recognized the attractive young woman he and Sam had met earlier.

The Jaime on the stretcher was awake but unresponsive. The bright, brown eyes that Dean had only seen filled with life were flat and expressionless. They stared straight ahead, uncomprehending. Jaime's flowing blonde hair hung in matted clumps against her skull, and she was covered in dirt and grime from the animal pens - so much so it looked as though she'd been drug through them, her whole body exposed to the mud and the muck.

Dean felt rage filter through him as he realized this beautiful young woman who'd been so full of life had experienced some sort of severe psychological trauma during her time at the encampment. He approached the figure on the stretcher, bending down to speak quietly to her.

"Jaime, it's Dean. Can you hear me?" He reached for her hand, but got no response.

"Jaime, if you can hear me, squeeze my hand, okay?"

Nothing.

"Sir, you'll have to move. We need to get her inside."

Dean released her limp hand gently and stepped back. "What's wrong with her?"

The two attendants pushed past him with the gurney, as one called back, "She's unresponsive - catatonic. You'll have to talk with her doctor after he examines her."

Dean stood on the ambulance dock, staring after her. He turned and faced the slight breeze, eyes watering. He sighed as he fished his phone out from his jeans pocket and dialed Danny.

"Dean, did you see her?" Danny's asked with no greeting.

"Yeah, Danny. Yeah. I did. She's okay." Dean offered, then amended. "I mean, she doesn't look like she's physically hurt, just …"

"Just what?"

"The EMT said she's catatonic, unresponsive. She didn't know me, couldn't squeeze my hand."

Silence. Then, "Oh."

Dean offered what assurances he could, "Look, man. It could be a lot worse, right? She's here. They found her, and they're gonna help her, Danny. It's gonna all be good."

"Yeah, I guess." Danny's voice sounded … despondent.

"She's been through a lot, man. That place, it just … they mess with your mind. But she'll come around. The rest of us did. It's just … you know … it's taking Jaime a little longer, that's all."

"So … she look … bruised or anything?"

"No, not that I could see. She was just … scruffy. Nothing that won't wash off."

Dean heard his friend's breath catch, "Dirty?"

"Yeah."

"Bastards. Jaime can't stand that. She hates feeling dirty, says it makes her feel like a bum." Danny mourned.

"It'll wash off, man. She'll be okay. Just get here. How far out are you?"

"Not far, maybe 20 minutes."

"Good. See you in 20 then."

Dean ended the call and slipped the phone back into his pocket. He stood for a moment, gazing out at the sunset that lit the sky up in a kaleidoscope of pinks and purples. He let his mind wander back to better times as he took a swipe at his eyes and fished out a handkerchief to blow his nose.

Then he shook off his revery and turned and headed back inside.

###

Sam looked up as he heard the door open and tried to gauge the seriousness of the situation by Dean's expression.

The older boy had been crying, Sam could tell. He felt his heart drop into his socks.

"No." He said, softly. "No, Dean. Not Jaime. Danny can't … He won't be able to …" Sam's voice grew thick with unshed tears.

Dean's eyes widened, and he hurried toward the bed. "No way, Sammy. She's good. Honest. I saw her, and there's not a mark on her."

Sam sighed in relief. "Damn, Dean. The look on your face. I thought something was really wrong."

Dean shook his head, "Nope. She'll be fine. She's just … traumatized or something."

"What do you mean, traumatized?"

"She ain't talking … not responding. She didn't know me."

Sam's eyes grew huge. "That's awful! Do they know why?"

"Not til the doc examines her. I spoke to Danny. They'll be here in about 20 minutes." Dean offered, searching for and then sliding into the uncomfortable armchair that was just like every other uncomfortable armchair in every other hospital Sam had ever recovered in. He closed his eyes just for a moment, drawing a deep breath. He opened them to find Sam staring hard at him.

"You're about two seconds from collapsing, Dean. You need to eat something. You can't live on hospital coffee and Tic Tacs forever."

Dean smiled, Sam was too damned observant. "You underestimate my survival skills, Sammy." He joked.

But he sobered when he saw Sam's eyes tear up.

"Dean, please." The younger boy pleaded. "Please take a few minutes to take care of you too. I can't do … I can't be any good in this stupid bed. I need to know you're gonna okay too. This has been just as hard on you as it has on me, maybe harder. Please go eat a hot meal." Sam pleaded.

Dean was about to give another flip reply when he saw Sam shiver. The boy lay back against the bed, depleted.

"I can't worry about myself if I'm worried about you collapsing from exhaustion, you know." Sam accused, his eyes closed. "I need you to stay strong, Dean. You got to because I just … I can't right now. I still … I hurt." A tear escaped one eye and trailed down his cheek.

Dean relented then. He stood up and stepped over to the bed, brushing away the single tear. "I know you do, Sammy. I'm here, okay? And I promise - as soon as I talk to Danny and Ron, I'll hit up the cafeteria for a roast beef or something, okay?"

Sam's eyes opened, and he pierced his brother with a look, "You promise?"

Dean grinned, "Yeah geek boy. I promise. Now rest. I'm just gonna sit down for a minute and relax until they show, okay? You need anything, I'm right here."


	32. Eat Something, Dean

Dr. Sonny Riggs tugged at the neck of his scrubs, sighing. It had been a long day. The latest victim of the religious cult that had taken up residence on the edge of town had been brought in, and she was a mess. Sonny had already dealt with seven victims, and of them, the Winchester boy and the Loggins woman had been in the worst conditions. He shook his head. He would never understand the mind of a predator who targeted innocent people by selling them false comfort and hope.

Seven so far, and more on the way, according to police. That's if you didn't count the mass, unmarked graves he'd heard about out by the old Settle farm. And the fact that the Winchester kid had been attacked again, right here in the hospital - that was just terrifying. Sonny Riggs hoped there'd be an end to this whole thing soon.

And in the meantime, he kept both eyes open and tried not to wander too far from the gun he kept locked in his office file cabinet.

Sonny sighed and pushed through the door of the private waiting room. Three men rose to meet him.

"Family of Jaime Loggins?" Sonny asked, running an exhausted hand through his hair.

"That's us." The tallest one spoke up.

Sonny nodded, extending his hand. "Husband?"

"Fiance." Danny answered, meeting the handshake. "This is my father, Ron. Dean is a close family friend. Jaime's brother is on his way in from Maine. We're all she has. How is she?"

Sonny gestured to the comfortable chairs and couch grouped conspicuously around a coffee table. It was all surreptitiously arranged to act as a conference center for doctors and their patient's families. "Let's sit." he smiled, gazing at Dean. "You look familiar to me."

Dean nodded, "You treated my brother, Sam Winchester."

Sonny swallowed hard. Great. This family hadn't already seen enough tragedy. "That's it." He smiled again, hiding his chagrin. "Your brother is quite the fighter."

"He is. He's always had to be."

"In this instance, that's a good thing." Sonny offered. He turned to Danny. "Ms. Loggins is a fighter too, apparently."

Danny nodded, "Tell us. Please."

"She's severely dehydrated. We've started her on an IV to replace the fluids in her body. She's a little underweight. She apparently hasn't eaten in days, maybe longer."

Danny's face grew dark as the doctor spoke.

We found no physical injuries other than a black eye that's mostly healed. Our biggest concern is her emotional state. She presented here catatonic. That means she's been unresponsive to stimuli. She doesn't speak, doesn't react, doesn't seem to understand or care what's going on around her. Does this sound anything like her?"

Dean snorted, "Not even. She's downright bubbly."

"What happened to her?" Danny asked, his voice cracking, and Ron placed a comforting hand on his shoulder.

Sonny shook his head. "Until she begins talking, we have no way of knowing. My best guess is a severe traumatic incident - something so overwhelming that she couldn't deal with it in a normal way. Instead, she chose to retreat into her own mind."

Danny buried his face in a hand, "Was she … I mean … did he …?"

"There's no evidence of sexual assault, if that's what you're asking." Sonny anticipated.

All three men released pent-up breaths.

"So what's the next step?" Ron asked, his hand rubbing circles on his son's shoulders.

"Now we wait. I've administered anti-anxiety drugs. They may help. And the nurses are giving her a sponge bath and washing her hair as we speak. That should help too."

"Can we see her?" Danny pleaded.

"Give them about half an hour to finish, and then I'll have someone come get you. Don't expect too much today. The drugs are supposed to relax her, help her sleep. She'll be pretty out of it for at least 24 hours. But tomorrow's a new day." He smiled again, standing.

If you need anything, have any questions, my name is Dr. Riggs. You can have someone page me."

###

"So, how's Jaime?" Sam looked up as Dean, Danny and Ron entered.

Danny did his best to downplay what he was feeling. He smiled, "Doc says there's no physical trauma. Just … she's got some emotional stuff going on. She'll be fine, Sammy. Don't worry."

Dean lifted the lid on Sam's dinner tray and took a quick inventory. He frowned. "You didn't eat all your meatloaf." He shifted a napkin. "And what's up with hiding the potatoes, dude? What are you, twelve?"

Ron chuckled a bit as Sam flushed pink. "Geez, Dean. Nosy much?" The younger boy complained.

"Damn right. You gotta get your strength back, Sam. This ain't the way." He gestured to the discarded food.

"Look who's talking, Dean! You haven't had a meal in days!"

Three sets of accusing eyes landed on Dean like lead. He chuckled nervously. "Uh, it ain't the same thing."

"Dean." Ron said, his voice heavy with accusation.

The older boy had the grace to flush. "I haven't had time, okay?"

Ron stared. Then he clapped his hands together and strode to the door. "Right. Well, Danny, you wanna hang out here with Sam til they have Jaime ready for visitors? Dean and I have an appointment down in the cafeteria."

Dean shook his head, "I'm fi …"

"Dean. Let's go." Ron said, in his dad voice that left no room for misinterpretation or bartering.

Dean ducked his head and shot Sam a last chagrined look as he shuffled to the door. His brother was grinning from ear to ear, and even Danny wore an amused expression. Dean reached the doorway and Ron gestured him out to the hallway. The older man looked back as they exited.

"Heard they're having a special on pie down there." Ron winked, pulling the door closed behind them.


	33. Horrified

Danny hesitated in the doorway. It had been weeks since he'd seen his fiance, and even then, things hadn't been exactly warm between them. He knew now that Jaime's actions hadn't been her own, but he still felt on shaky ground approaching the slight form in the hospital bed.

He drew near and looked down.

Damn. She looked so young and so … destroyed.

The only mark on her was the slight shadow over her eye. The dirt and grime had been washed away, and her blond hair lay damp, but clean, against the pillow. She was thinner than he remembered, and her face - even in sleep - was drawn.

Still, she looked like a helpless teenager instead of like the strong, independent woman he knew her to be.

He felt something unfamiliar pique inside him, and he thought it might be rage. He reached down and took her small hand in his.

"Jai." He breathed, leaning in. "Hey, Jai, can you hear me, baby? It's Danny." His fingers trailed a soft path across her cheek. "Jai. Can you hear me?"

She shifted slightly, and Danny was encouraged. He continued to speak to the traumatized young woman in the bed.

"Jai, I'm here now, and you're okay. Do you understand? They got you out. You're free now, and you're going to be fine." He fussed with her hair, placing a soft kiss on her forehead. "I'm not going to let anything else happen to you, baby. I promise. Can you just wake up for me? Come back to me?"

She moaned softly, her feet moving restlessly.

Danny studied her. Both Dean and Dr. Riggs had called her unresponsive, but he felt like he might be getting through to her. He continued.

"You gotta get better, you know. Sammy's here now and Dean, and I want to introduce you properly. I know you've met them, but they're kind of like my unofficial brothers, and I wanted to be the one to introduce you to them - Sammy especially. He agreed to be best man, you know." He closed his eyes, picturing their wedding day in his mind.

But when he looked back down at his future bride, he got a shock. Her eyes were wide open and staring straight at him.

And they were filled with something that looked decidedly like horror.

Danny gasped. He squeezed her hand. "Jai! It's okay, baby. You're safe now. I promise."

She blinked and tears squeezed from her eyes. She began shaking her head back and forth, muttering something that sounded like "no no no." over and over again.

Danny cupped her cheek in his other hand. "Shhh. Jai. It's okay. You're safe now. You're in the hospital. The people who … who hurt you … they're in jail now. It's okay. You can relax."

But she wouldn't be comforted. She just stared at Danny, repeating the soft litany of no's that became louder and louder with each repetition.

"No No No NO NO NO NO!"

"Shhh! Jai! I'm here. I'm right here!"

"NO NO NO NO!"

Her door opened, and two nurses rushed in.

"What's going on in here?" the older one asked, eying Danny suspiciously as she moved to check Jaime's vitals. "Who are you?"

Danny felt helpless. "I'm her fiance. She's upset. She's just upset."

"Step outside, please. We need to calm her down."

"But … no. I want to stay with her. They said she's unresponsive, but she's responding to me!" Danny stepped back as the nurses forced their way to the bedside.

"That's not responding. That's panicking. Step outside please."

"But …"

"Sir, do I have to call security? Step outside. Now!"

Danny backed away, bumping into the window sill. "No. You don't … don't have to call anyone. I'll go. I just … I want …"

But the two medical professionals ignored him as they tended to Jaime whose chorus of "no's" were now audible out into the hallway. He strode to the door and tugged it open, letting it shut behind him. Outside, he could still hear.

"NO NO NO NO!" and then, "Saaaaaaaaaaaam!"

Danny's breath hitched. He leaned against the wall, tears falling. She was hurting. The woman he loved more than he'd ever loved anyone was hurting, and he couldn't do anything to stop it. He slid down the wall and sat with his knees up, burying his face in his arms. And that's how Dean and Sam found him moments later.

###

The first thing Dean heard as he stepped from the elevator was a woman's voice screaming his brother's name over and over. He flew down the hallway to Sam's door and burst inside. His brother was struggling to get out of bed and into his wheelchair, his face panicked. Inside his room and all along the ward, the woman's voice reverberated.

SAMSAMSAMSAMSAMSAMSAMSAM!"

"Sammy! What …?"

"Dean! Help me! I think it's Jaime!"

"Sammy! No!"

"Yes! Dean, I know why she's so traumatized! You do too! Come on! She has to see me … see that I'm okay … that I'm alive!"

Suddenly, Dean understood. He hurried to his brother's bedside and helped him down. He situated him in the chair, adjusting the footrests to accommodate extra-long legs. "I don't like this, Sam. You're still too weak. You shouldn't be up."

"Dean! Jaime needs me. Now let's go!" Sam began trying to push the wheels himself, crashing into the corner of the bed, the edge of his bed tray, and the horrid armchair where Dean had spent the better part of the past three days.

"Fine! Just hold up, will you? Let me do it!" Dean barked, scared that Sam was going to break something - mainly himself. "Geez, Sam! Impatient much?" He got the chair straightened out and pointed toward the door. Three steps later, the pair was out in the hallway, rocketing toward the sound of Jaime's cries that only grew louder and more hysterical by the second.

Moments later, they found Danny curled up outside the door to Jaime's room. He lifted his head and turned a face wet with tears toward them. "Dean? Sammy? What … ?"

"We'll explain in a minute." Dean volunteered, pushing the door open and wheeling Sam inside. Both boys caught their breaths.

Jaime sat straight up in bed, her arms bent at the elbows, hand forming tight fists as she screamed Sam's name over and over. Her eyes were tightly closed, but tears leaked from them as her body rocked with each exhalation.

"SAMSAMSAMSAMSAM!"

"Jaime! I'm here!" Sam yelled, trying to be heard. He struggled to stand, and Dean reached down to help tug him to his feet. The older boy steadied him as they approached the bed together.

"Jaime! I'm here! I'm fine!" Sam repeated, reaching out and grasping a fist. "Please! Open your eyes! Jaime, I'm right here!"

Jaime's eyes opened and fell on Sam, and just as suddenly as it started, the screaming stopped. She sat, breathing heavily, her full focus on Sam, as he gently pried her fist open and took her hand.

"I'm fine, Jaime. I'm alright. I promise." He smiled at her through tears of his own. Behind him, he felt Danny approach.

"Jai?" The older man breathed, hardly daring to hope.

"Jaime, it's okay. I'm okay. Everything's fine. I swear." Sam reiterated, trying to make her understand. He squeezed her hand. "You're okay. Safe now. We all are."

Jaime stared at him, her mouth open, eyes wide. "Sam …?" She breathed, like she couldn't believe he stood before her healthy and alive.

He grinned then, "Yeah, it's me, Jaime. And I'm fine. I swear. You can stop worrying about me. Dean's keeping me in line."

"Sam…?" She said again, like she still couldn't believe it.

Then she was in his arms and crying like a baby. Sam sat on the edge of the bed, encompassed by the hug from the slight girl who occupied it. She held onto him like a lifeline, gripping him so tightly it was difficult for him to breathe. He rubbed gentle, calming circles on her back as she sobbed.

"I'm so sorry!" She sobbed over and over. "So sorry!"

"Shhh. Hey now. There's no need for that. It wasn't your fault. Shhh. Jaime. It's okay." Sam intoned.

"I hurt you! I thought … thought I'd killed you!" She turned horrified eyes to Dean. "Dean! I thought …"

The older boy shook his head, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder. "It's okay, Jaime. Sammy's gonna be fine."

"I'm so sorry." She buried her face in Sam's shoulder.

Sam was suddenly conscious of Danny standing just behind him. He whispered in Jaime's ear. "You know, Danny's here too. He's been waiting for you to … to wake up."

She caught her breath and looked up, seeing Danny for the first time. "Danny?"

Sam gently extricated himself from her embrace and took a step back, swaying slightly. Dean was beside him in an instant, helping him sit back in his chair. "Come on, Sammy. Let's let the lovebirds have a moment." Dean wheeled him to the door. As they left the room, Dean glanced back once to see Danny move forward and gather Jaime in his arms. He saw the woman's shaking arms wrap around his friend's back and her body fold into his.

"Looks like the wedding's on again, Sammy." He joked. "Hope they have a tux in size extra-tall sasquatch."


	34. Tuxes and Old Times

Sam stood in front of the mirror and assessed his image, frowning. He tilted his head to the right and tried standing sideways, but nothing helped. He'd just lost too much weight.

The tux that should have fit him perfectly was simply too big.

"Here, let me see." Dean tried smoothing the shoulders down in back. He spun Sam around carefully and pulled the ends of the jacket together, but the two ends overlapped more than double. He shook his head, glancing up at the woman who stood waiting with Dean's own tux. "It's too big." He said.

She looked distressed. "That's the smallest size we have that's the right length. We can go down a size, but then we'll be in the youth sizes, and they'll never be long enough in the sleeve and the leg."

Sam blushed furiously at the mention of having to wear something cut for a teen. He gazed at his brother in desperation. "Dean …"

Dean stared back, realizing that Sam had just about reached his breaking point. He'd been out of the hospital for a week, but he still spent most of his time in the wheelchair because of the overwhelming fatigue that was a lingering side effect of first the rat bite fever and then the meningitis. His brother had an attention span of approximately one hour these days, and they'd surpassed that a good forty minutes ago.

"Just hang on, Sammy." he said, slipping the baggy jacket off his brother and checking the fit of the pants that matched it. He was able to slip three fingers under the waistband. He rolled his eyes. "Here. Sit." he guided the gangly boy to a comfortable armchair that sat off to the side. "Relax, okay? We'll fix this."

Sam nodded as Dean turned to the woman holding his own suit. "So how do we fix this?"

She looked worried. "We can tailor it, but I really think we should go down a size. She placed Dean's suit over the back of a chair and disappeared. When she returned, she held a tux that looked as though it was made to fit a 12-year-old. She smiled broadly. "Maybe this one."

Dean took one look at the childish tux and shot his brother a glance. Sam stared at the suit in disgust, and Dean could tell he was one fitting away from a breakdown. "Yeah, he ain't wearin' that." Dean said, dismissively. He gathered up Sam's street clothes and propelled him toward the fitting rooms. "Go get dressed, Sasquatch. We'll make this one work." He gestured to the ridiculously baggy pants that Sam was currently wearing.

But the sales lady wouldn't budge. "We really can't let him take that one. We have a reputation to maintain." She said haughtily. "He looks ridiculous - like he's playing dress-up in his father's old clothes. Doesn't he ever eat?"

The room went deathly silent, and Sam paused on his way to the changing room. Even turned away from them, Dean could see the back of his neck turn bright red.

Danny was suddenly between the offensive woman and Sam. "My whole family has just barely survived a traumatic incident, and you're going to stand there and insult my best man? What's wrong with you?" He asked, point blank.

"Oh! I … uh …" she stammered, but Danny cut her off.

"You what? You were raised in a barn? You want us to go spend our money someplace else?"

It was the sales lady's turn to blush a bright, fiery red. "Really, I didn't mean …"

"Yes, you did. You meant every cruel word of it. Now either Sammy gets the suit he wants, or we walk. What's it going to be? Oh, and you owe him an apology too." Danny stood with his arms crossed over his chest in an uncharacteristically confrontational pose, but then he'd always felt a little protective where Sam was concerned.

The woman stood silent, not knowing what to do.

"Well? Are we leaving then?" Danny demanded.

"What? Oh, no! Don't leave." She turned to Sam, "I'm sorry, sir. If you'll give me those pants, I'll put them with the jacket. When will you be returning to have them fitted?"

"We won't." Dean interjected, handing her the top of the tux. "We'll handle it from here." He picked up his tux from the chair and headed to the fitting room next to Sam's, giving the kid a wink on the way. "Remind me never to get on Danny's bad side." He whispered, grinning, as he disappeared inside the stall.

When Dean emerged ten minutes later, Sam was seated comfortably in the armchair off to the side as Danny and Ron took inventory of the suits. He stepped in front of the mirror and nodded. "Looks fine." He said, clapping his hands. "Let's get this show on the road." He started to slip out of the jacket, but the sales woman hurried over and stopped him.

"Oh my!" She crowed. "It fits like it was made for you. It's because you fill it out so nicely, you know. Hardly anyone ever looks this good without adjustments. She continued to fuss over him, going on and on about how he looked like a model in the tux and how she wanted to take a picture for their wall of fame. In the middle of it all, Dean looked beyond her in the mirror to see Sam watching the display with an unreadable expression. When Dean's eyes met his in the mirror, Sam looked away, and Dean actually saw him swallow. He suddenly felt like an ass. Here this clueless woman was, making over him like he was some fashion model when his little brother had lost so much weight he was almost relegated to wearing kids' clothes.

Sam had enough problems with his self image without this adding to his insecurities. Dean looked away and gently extricated himself from the woman's ministrations.

"Yeah, we're done here." He told her none too gently and headed back to the dressing room. He emerged minutes later in his jeans and flannel, handing the tux to Danny. "This one works." He said.

"I guess we're good to go then." Danny smiled, his voice proud. "Dad and I got this, Dean. Why don't you and Sam go try out that froyo place across the seat, and we'll meet you there?"

Dean blinked, "Fro who?"

Sam chuckled as he labored to his feet. "Frozen yogurt, Dean. You're so OLD."

The older boy tried to look offended, but when Sam stumbled and almost fell, he gave up the act to lend a hand. "Back into the chair for you, Stumbelina." He complained, fetching the wheelchair and helping Sam fall exhaustedly into it. "And who the hell eats yogurt frozen anyway? That shit tastes bad enough when it's not hard as a brick." He wheeled Sam out the door, ignoring the chuckles that emanated from Danny and Ron. "Come on, Sammy. Let's find some shade, hunh? It's hotter than the bowels of hell out here."

"Hey Dean?"

"Yeah?"

"Can we just go home? I'm … I'm just really tired." Sam yawned so big Dean heard his jaw crack.

"Yep. Let's go. I'll call Danny on the way." He wheeled Sam over to the Impala and waited while he transferred himself to the passenger seat. Then he folded the chair with practiced ease and stowed it in the backseat. He slipped behind the wheel and started her up, switching the air on high and aiming all the vents at his brother. "Should be cool in here in a minute." He studied the younger boy worriedly. "You okay over there?"

Sam nodded, eyes shut. "Just tired is all."

As the AC kicked in and a cool, refreshing breeze began to fill the inside of the car, Dean dug out his phone and sent a quick text. Then he pointed the Impala back to Ron's house and their small apartment over the garage.

A half hour later, Sam's eyes opened as he heard the wheels crunch over the gravel drive. "What happened to Danny's truck?" He asked, noticing for the first time that the old Ford was sitting out behind the garage, jacked up on blocks.

Dean whistled. "Engine's gone. Danny says it's worth saving, but he's wrong. That beast? Death would be a blessing."

Sam thought, "So Danny and Jaime are starting out without a car?" He looked at Dean, A smile forming.

Dean looked back, suddenly understanding. "You sure about that, Sammy?"

Sam nodded, settling back in. "Yep. I know what I'm getting them as a wedding gift now."

"Well, Danny has been taking care of her for you for six long years. I'd say he's earned it."

"Took good care too. He started her up for me the other night. Runs sweeter than she ever did."

"You never got to enjoy the new seats though." Dean frowned.

"I enjoyed the sentiment behind them." Sam returned, gazing at his brother fondly. "Still can't believe you found those. Mint, even."

"Well, Bobby found 'em. Me and Danny just picked 'em up and put 'em in."

Dean glanced over. "You won't miss her? Symbol of your independence and all?"

Sam hesitated, and Dean thought he was going to admit that he would, but the younger boy surprised him.

"I never wanted that independence, Dean. All that time - that whole year - all I could think about was getting back to you. The car - that was just a necessity. You're here now, with the Impala, and it's not a necessity anymore. Not for me anyway. For Danny? Yeah."

Dean looked away, his throat aching. He still remembered too damned much about that year - the year he'd left Sam behind in some scumbag motel on the other side of the country because a witch had hit him with a hex. The kid had been sixteen years old, and he'd dodged a hell of a lot of close calls before Dean had managed to find him a year later - two minutes from death in the attic of an old farmhouse nearby. The older boy shivered. No, he didn't need any reminders of the worst year of his life. Thank you very much. Give the classic Mustang away. He wouldn't cry any rivers.

"Danny's the one who helped me restore her anyway. He should have been driving her all this time. I never thought he'd keep her tucked away like a trophy."

"You good to go up?" Dean asked, shutting off the engine as close to the garage as he could get.

Sam sighed. "I'm just tired of being so damned tired all the time. Those steps - they might as well be Everest."

Dean pushed down the guilt that struggled to surface, and smiled. "Well, come on then, princess. Lean on me." He slipped around to the passenger and helped Sam out of the car. "Need the chair?"

"No, just … your arm, maybe. If you don't mind."

"S'why I'm here." Dean replied, slipping Sam's arm over his shoulders and helping the boy toward the steps.

"How'm I gonna walk up the aisle and stay standing for a whole service?" Sam asked sleepily, already contemplating the big, comfy couch upstairs.

"Danny and I already discussed it. You're taking the chair. I'll push you."

Sam sighed. "Well, that sounds sexy."

"Damn straight it does. Only you could pull it off, bitch. Probably have to fight all the ladies off to push you back down the damn aisle. Girls love a vulnerable guy. Or so I hear. I wouldn't know, of course - stud that I am."

"Of course not."

"Never."

"Dean?"

"What, Sasquatch?"

"You're awesome."


	35. Wedding Day

Dean sat at the small table, drinking a beer and remembering. This time six years ago, he was certain he'd never see his little brother alive again. He remembered Sam's crummy, vomit-encrusted apartment building in Kankakee - used syringes falling out of forgotten furniture in the hallway. He remembered the heat and the coming up empty and the despair. He remembered the repeated calls to Sam's phone that went unanswered and the lukewarm trail that had led him and Bobby to a roadhouse so rough even the two seasoned hunters were hesitant to step inside.

Sam had been attacked there, beaten and left for dead behind a dumpster. But by the time Dean and Bobby had picked up his trail, he was long gone.

Dean had thought that was the end.

But Sammy had surprised him with his resilience. Still just a kid of seventeen, Sam had persevered. He'd licked his wounds and pulled himself back up and stumbled his way into Ron's front yard where they'd taken him in like family. And later, when Dean had tracked him here, they'd accepted him with the same open arms.

Dean stood and moved over to the couch, looking down. Sam looked peaceful in his sleep.

But he was so damned skinny. Just walking from the kitchen to the living room in the small apartment exhausted him. Dean had doubled him up on vitamins and tried to get as much food into him as possible, but it was an uphill struggle. Nearly everything Sam ate made him feel nauseous anymore, and the kid was weak as a kitten. The doctors had assured them it would just take time, but seeing Sammy in a wheelchair … it just took everything out of Dean.

He studied the kid and smiled. Sam always looked younger in his sleep. And he was weak, and spindly and emaciated, but at least he was here. Dean had him in his sights where he could take care of him, and that put them one step ahead of where they were six years ago.

They'd make it through this just like always.

###

The day of the wedding dawned clear and cool, much to everyone's relief. Ron's yard had been transformed into a floral-strewn sanctuary filled with folding chairs and bundles of white lilac. The apartment over the garage had been taken over by Jaime and her bridesmaids, and the boys had been relegated to the house, where Dean stood in his tux, trying to filch pie from the windowsill where Ron had set four of them to cool. There was a line of tables out front so laden with food, they bowed in the middles. On the outskirts of Benton, Illinois, there was no need for caterers when every family in the area had an Aunt Bea waiting in the wings.

Dean, as always, couldn't keep his mind off the buffet.

"Dean!" Sam called a third time.

"Hunh? What, Sammy?" Dean turned from his study of the tables.

"Does Danny have my suit, man? I can't find it."

Sam stood in his boxers and undershirt, looking scrawnier than possible. He leaned in the doorway, pale and sweating, and Dean had no idea how the kid was going to make it through the whole ceremony without collapsing.

Apparently, Danny had the same thought. He suddenly appeared in the kitchen from the back porch and stopped dead at the sight of Sam holding up the house.

"Damn, Sammy. You okay, man?"

Sam smiled painfully. "Yeah, man. Why wouldn't I be?"

Danny frowned. "You know, you don't have to do this. You can sit this one out, and Dean will step up, right, Dean?"

Dean opened his mouth to agree, but Sam beat him to it. "What? No! Of course I'm not sitting this out. It's your wedding, man. I said I'd be your best man, and I will." He pushed off the doorway and settled into a kitchen chair. "I'm fine. Really."

Danny wasn't convinced. "Sammy, you're sick. You look like about two miles of bad road. Jaime and I get it. It's okay, honest." He took the chair next to Sam and handed him a beer. "S'okay."

Sam took the beer, "I can't find my tux." He mourned, trying and failing to screw off the cap. Dean sighed exaggeratedly and moved to the rescue, taking the beer, removing the cap and handing it back, but not before taking a swig.

"Got your tux right here, Sam." Ron appeared from a back room. "If you're up to it, that is. I made some adjustments."

Sam smiled, standing and taking the suit. He disappeared into the bathroom as Dean, Danny and Ron exchanged worried looks.

But they all fell away when Sam stepped back into the room. The tux he wore looked like it was tailored specifically to fit him, and he looked better than he'd looked in a solid month, tucked inside it.

Dean whistled. "Damn, Ron. What'd you do?" He asked in disbelief, and Sam turned in a circle for approval.

"Just a tuck here and a few dozen safety pins there. Nothing that can't be undone before we return it." Ron smiled.

Dean stood and tugged on Sam's lapels, but they stayed right where they were supposed to. His gaze traveled downward and he nodded at the perfect fit of the pants that once looked like they'd belonged to a man twice his brother's size.

Sam laughed. "Is there anything you can't do, Ron?" He asked delightedly.

Danny grinned, "That's about seven years of homemade Halloween costumes coming to the rescue, Sammy."

"And don't forget that time you played the angel Castiel in the fourth-grade play." Ron added. He turned to Dean. "An angel who wore a trench coat, no less. Ever try to find a tan trench coat to fit a 9-year-old?"

Dean chuckled, "Ron, you have mad skills, man."

"Nah," Ron tried to brush off the praise. "Just did what any widowed father of a six-year-old would do." He smiled at Danny indulgently, then turned his attention to Sam. "Sammy, you look good."

Sam snorted, "Thanks to you!"

"So …" Ron clapped his hand together. "It's just about go time. We all ready?"

Danny suddenly paled, looking sick. "Is it?"

Ron laughed and clapped him on the back. "It's okay, son. You'll get through it."


	36. Old Enemies

From inside the apartment over the garage, William watched.

It was the scrawny kid. This was all his fault. He'd single-handedly silenced the Word. William's father thought of him now as a disappointment, a failure. All his life, William had tried to please the preacher, and all his life he'd failed.

But this latest debacle - it wasn't his fault.

It was the kid's.

Dean, Jaime - all of them - they'd been in. They'd rededicated their lives to the Word, and everything would have been fine, would have run smoothly. If the kid had just gone away. If Dean had just killed him like he was supposed to do. If Jaime's shot had worked. If William had succeeded in burying the brat alive.

That damned psychic kid. He had more lives than a fucking cat.

But William knew his father wouldn't see it that way. He would pin the failure, the disruption, on William. He'd say he wasn't strong enough - not determined enough.

Disloyal.

But it wasn't true. William was devoted to his father and to their mission. And he'd die to protect both.

He'd kill to protect both.

And he'd start by finishing off the kid with the smart mouth.

By the look of things, it would be easy. The kid was in a wheelchair. He was pale and shaky and looked like he could pass out at any minute.

The only hitch was that Dean never left his side.

And William did not want to go up against Dean. He'd seen the man in action.

So he watched.

And waited.

And smiled. When the time was right, he'd take his time.

The kid was going to suffer for what he'd done. He'd taken everything away from William.

Everything.

Oh, that little bastard would pay.

William fingered the stud welder absently - flicking the electrical current on and off repeatedly. He'd picked the tool up on his way up the stairs, recognizing it instantly from those two days he'd spent helping Evan repair his father's pickup after it had been vandalized. The sizzling sound the tool made was immensely satisfying.

Immensely.


	37. A Bad Feeling

As rough as he felt, Sam couldn't stop smiling. When the minister asked for the rings, he handed them to Danny with shaking hands that weren't even stilled by the groom's reassuring wink.

Poor Danny looked like he was going to pass out at any moment - so bad, in fact, that Dean had inconspicuously changed places with Sam just in case the youngest Ritter really did go down.

And Jaime, Jaime was just beautiful. Strike that - the young vet was beautiful on a good day. Today, she was simply stunning. Her simple, white lace dress stopped just above her knees, and she wore a small white daisy behind her left ear. In her hands she carried a draping bunch of white lilacs, tied together with a yellow ribbon. High up on her thigh she wore a concealed weapon - one of Ron's old handguns, and none of the men could talk her out of it. Since returning home, she'd cajoled Danny into giving her shooting lessons, saying she just had a bad feeling she couldn't shake.

In spite of her fears, however, today she positively glowed.

Sam had heard that old adage before, about women on their wedding day, but until today, he'd never really understood it.

Even Ron looked like a satisfied cat that had just feasted on a canary. The relief the family felt at having Jaime back in the fold was palpable, and Sam had the fleeting thought that he'd endure these past, painful weeks all over again if it meant this happy of an ending for these friends he thought of as family.

As the ceremony concluded, Dean moved around behind him and grasped the handles of his wheelchair.

"Ready for some food there, Sammy?" He asked, practically rubbing his hands together in anticipation.

Sam shook his head, smiling. "Wanna go change first. I'm dying in this heat."

"Sounds good. I'm in."

Dean cut out around the crowd that was still thronging around the happy couple. "Can't make it back to the house in this crowd. The apartment it is." he offered.

"Just anywhere that's cool, please."

"You got it, Samantha."

Dean parked the chair at the bottom of the steps and followed his brother up. At the top of the stairs, they left the door open behind them, as always. Sam moved into the bedroom as Dean moved to crank up the air conditioner. He turned, grinning, "I think I see a whole table full of pie down there, Sammy."

But his grin froze on his face when his turn brought him face to face with William. The older man's eyes were wild, and his arm was around Sam's waist. To his brother's neck he held an electric stud welder.

"I told you I'd take care of your kid brother." William volunteered. "You should have believed me."

Dean's eyes narrowed. "And I told you he was my responsibility. Let him go." Dean's eyes flicked to his brother's. "Sammy, you okay?"

"Peachy, Dean." Sam returned in code, meaning - "Yeah, need a little help here."

Dean advanced, his eyes cold. He'd so had it with these sick bastards hurting his brother. "You're not gonna touch him, you hear me? You hurt one hair on his head, and I'll end you myself."

William swallowed hard, backing up. He dragged Sam with him, but the stud welder was the small, handheld kind that used a cable connected to a box that plugged into the wall, and his field of movement was limited.

"Stop. Right there. I loaded it. It's got a pin in it. It's live when I pull the trigger, Dean. People die from accidents with these things all the time." He depressed the trigger and the tool let out a sick sizzle. He smiled."Right up against his neck, Dean." He gestured with the gun to the side of Sam's already bruised neck. "Right here if you don't back off."

Dean stopped, seething. "What the fuck do you want, you sick sonofabitch?" His eyes flicked from William's insane ones to his brother's terrified ones, and the rage he felt down deep began to surface.

William shrugged. "I want this little bitch dead. He's been a pain in my ass for too long." He smiled evilly, "And I want you to watch." He lowered the tool.

"Dean!" Sam yelped.

Dean leaped forward with a yell, crashing into the pair and knocking them all into the window that looked out over the wedding. Glass shattered and rained down on the gravel below. Both Dean and Sam had their hands on William's where it held the deadly tool, but the man had the strength of insanity on his side.

Sam lay pinned on his back on the floor, William on top of him and Dean on top of William. The tool inched closer and closer to Sam's face, and the younger boy tried to twist his head away as it approached.

"Dean!" He yelled again out of reflex.

"Sammy! Hang on!" Dean tossed three punches to William's gut, but they had no effect at all. He moved both hands to the stud welder, trying to yank the cable out of the box or the box out of the wall, but the tool was guarded against just such an accident with connectors that screwed into place.

"Get off my brother, you … you weak-minded asshole!" Dean threatened through gritted teeth.

But William giggled - the sick bastard fucking giggled. "Better get off me, Dean, or you're going to hell with us." He depressed the trigger just two inches away from Sam's face.

And Dean knew then, there was no reasoning with the man who was willing to die to see Sammy dead too.

The shot, when it came, was deafening in the small room. One moment they were wrestling with a madman on the rough board floors of the room over the garage, and the next, Dean was rocked back from the impact of a gunshot blast. He landed on his butt on the floor, stud welder still clasped tightly in his hand, his face and front covered in … William.

He looked up at the door in shock to see Jaime standing there with Ron's old .45. The cold look of hatred on her face a sharp contrast to her dress and the flower in her hair. In her small hands, the gun looked forbiddingly huge. On the floor, Sam shoved the remains of the man who'd tried to kill him away and twisted his head backward to see who'd saved his life.

Dean was on his feet, stumbling over William's remains and moving to help Sam up in an instant. Together, they approached the young woman who stood shaking, trembling hands still outstretched and pointing the weapon at William's corpse.

"Jaime," Sam breathed, as Dean gently reached out a hand and captured the gun from her numb fingers.

She looked up at the sound of Sam's voice saying her name and met the taller man's eyes. Her own eyes filled with tears and her body began quaking. She tried to explain.

"H-he w-was going t-to … Sam! H-he would h-have … I had to! I h-had to!" She babbled.

"Shhh." Sam pulled her close, his suit somehow still free from debris. "Shhh. Jaime, it's okay."

Galloping steps on the stairs revealed a pale and terrified Danny. He skidded to a stop in the doorway, taking in Dean covered in blood, the dead man on the floor and his sobbing wife in Sam's arms.

"Jaime!" He breathed. "Jai, what happened? Are you okay?" His eyes looked to Sam's for explanation.

Sam nodded, smiling through tears of his own. "She's fine, Danny. She's okay." He transferred the distraught bride into her husband's arms and turned to look at his brother. Dean was a macabre sight - covered nearly head-to-toe in a fine spray of blood.

"Weak-minded asshole, Dean?" Sam asked, his mouth twitching.

"I had other things on my mind, okay?" Dean made excuse, eyes sweeping his brother's thin frame head to toe. "You okay?"

Sam smiled, "Yeah, man, I'm good."

Dean grinned and held out his arms, "Hug?"

Sam backed away in horror. And when Dean advanced, chuckling evilly, he ran.


	38. Confessions

It was late. William's body had been collected by the coroner, and the party had moved to the house until such a time as they got the garage cleaned up.

Two witnesses meant no charges for Jaime, and though the new bride was still pale and trembling, she was going to be okay. Danny never strayed further than a few feet from his new wife as the family gathered around the table to finally sample a few of the dishes that had been left behind.

"Sit down, Jai. I got this." Danny assured her, pulling out her chair and retrieving a bowlful of macaroni salad from the fridge.

"Yep," Ron added. "The bride and hero of the moment gets the four-star treatment." He winked at his new daughter-in-law as he set the warmed-up platter of fried chicken on the table.

Jaime shuddered, "Please don't say that, Ron. Not … not a hero. A man died, and I … it was me ..."

Sam reached a long arm across the table and covered Jaime's hand with his own. "You're my hero." He assured her. "Saved my life, sure as anything."

Jaime looked at him, tears still close to the surface, and shook her head. "After almost taking it back there at the … that … place." She shivered again.

Dean glanced up from his pie and noted the slight woman sitting there looking so miserable, on her wedding day no less, and he realized he'd had enough. "Jaime, I think it's time you heard the whole story about what Sammy went through at that encampment."

She looked up, stricken, certain that Dean still blamed her for Sam almost dying. Her eyes spilled over, but she nodded bravely. "Okay. I know. It's okay, Dean. I … I deserve it."

Danny frowned, hugging her tight from behind. "That's not what Dean meant, Jai. Just listen to what he has to say, okay? Then maybe you can stop blaming yourself."

Dean stared straight ahead, unable to meet anyone's eyes, as he began his story. He cleared his throat.

"So, uh, after you gave him the shot, I don't know if you remember, but he went downhill pretty quick." He turned to Sam. "I don't know how much of it you remember, Sammy, but I remember it all now - every freaking moment of it." His voice shook. "I … uh … I pulled you over my shoulder and tossed you in the trunk of the Impala." He paused, looking down. "Not the backseat or your old spot on the passenger side, Sammy - the fucking trunk. Just tossed you in like a sack of old potatoes and lit out for that shitty barn on the edge of everything.

"Dean …" Sam tried to interrupt, but Dean held up a hand, looking straight at Jaime.

"You need to hear this - all of you. You see, I … I couldn't control what I did. I just … I had this thought in my mind that Sammy was interfering with some mission and had to go away." He turned toward Sam without meeting his eyes. "So I chained you up inside that barn - cuffed you to the wall, and you were terrified, Sam. You were hallucinating - seeing awful things - things that were out to get you, to … to kill you maybe. You kept calling out for me, calling my name. And I sat there for a bit because I couldn't bring myself to just leave you there … alone and scared. But then I did." He directed his words to Jaime again. "I just got up and walked away and left him there - sick and scared and calling out for me." He stopped, clearing his throat. His next words shook.

"I left him there … for days. And if Ron and Danny hadn't found me when they did, I'd have never gone back there." He turned agonized eyes on his little brother. "You would have died a horrible death from the heat and the rats and the being … being buried alive, and I wouldn't have even remembered, Sammy." He broke down then. "It would have been my fault, all of it. All because of that bastard's fucking incantation …" He struggled to gain control of his voice. "So you see, Jaime, if I could do that to Sammy … to the kid I've spent my life trying to protect … if I could just tie him up and leave him to die and never think twice about it, how can you blame yourself for giving him one shot?" He looked at Sam. "We didn't have any choices, Sammy. I swear to God. I couldn't control it. I'm so sorry, little brother." He broke down then, tears obscuring his vision. But he felt Sam get up from his seat across the table and move behind him. He felt long sasquatch arms wrap around him and felt Sam's shaggy head drop onto his shoulder.

"I know. I've known from the start, you know. I don't blame you, jerk."

Dean snorted through tears. "You should, you little bitch. You should be pissed as hell."

"Yeah, well, I'm not. So there." Sam grinned. "So do you feel bad enough to share some of that pie?"

"Get your eyes of my pie, Sasquatch." Dean chuckled wetly, swiping at his eyes.

"Geez, Dean. That was short-lived." Sam snorted.

"Yeah, well … pie."

And they laughed then. They laughed because Danny had finally got the girl, and because Ron was no longer an island and because Dean could feel Sam's presence standing warm and tall and alive behind him.

They would heal from this - all of them. It would take time, but eventually Jaime would learn to forgive herself. Dean would stop having nightmares about Sam being eaten alive by rats, and Sam would regain his strength and good health.

Because they were a family, and making it through the bad times as well as the good was what it was all about. It had had it's horrifying moments - this trip back to Benton - but it'd had its triumphs too.

Like seven kinds of pie, Dean thought, digging in.

-THE END-


End file.
